Something Has to Give
by AKA Jay
Summary: There are some things you can't walk away from. The Labyrinth is one, organized crime is another... also Jareth. And sentient predatory hand dryers too. Oh, and true love. But Sarah is going to give it her best shot.
1. Chapter One

Title: Something Has to Give  
Author: AKA Jay   
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim   
Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.  
Feedback: Would be appreciated.  
Summary: Wouldn't that involve some forethought on my part?

Dedication: To Tellergirl, for reminding me about this fandom. Lots of new fic to read, bless you people for keeping the stories going. *g*

**Part One**

Sarah threw herself onto her bed, exhausted from the victory party. As nice as it had been to see her friends one last time it was a relief to be going back to her normal life. Hah, she thought. Never thought I'd be _happy_ with my life.   
  
She smiled to herself and burrowed deeply into the covers. What a perfect way to end this stage of her life. "It'll be just like before..." she murmured softly. Toby was back, the book was... Well, sitting on my dresser, actually. I'll get rid of it tomorrow. Most importantly, she had learned an Important Lesson about yearning after illusions instead of doing the Sensible Thing and being content with your life the way it was. The reality behind her fantasies was just a little more than she wanted to deal with. As she settled into a dreamless sleep, she wanted nothing more than to live her life as normally as possible. 

There are some things that can't be taken back. 

You can't leave the mob for a more rewarding career as a federal prosecutor, you can't make your friend forget what you _really_ think of her boyfriend (now her husband), and once you've been to the Labyrinth, you can't suddenly decide to expunge all unreality from your life. (Even if you go to the extreme of becoming a Certified Public Accountant.)

Magic leaves traces on you, tiny shimmering beacons that call to the source, nagging it to come take back its missing fragments. Sarah was now bearing the occult equivalent of "If found, please return to..." tags.

Of course, at this point she was trying earnestly to forget the name that was written on the flyleaf of her soul.

*****

He, on the other hand, was in no danger of forgetting about her.

His eyes were on her even as she spoke her heartfelt pledge of mediocrity. Lips curved in a smile of amusement, he watched her until she'd drifted off to sleep. 

Shaking his head, Jareth absently let the crystal dissolve. He leaned back in his throne and basked in the uncharacteristic quiet. Most of the goblins were still hiding down in the village and for a moment he considered leaving them there. He dismissed the idea with a regretful sigh. After all, they were his loyal subjects. He'd tell them it was safe to come out. Eventually. 

He closed his eyes and let his consciousness range out over the Labyrinth like a winged bird. With pleasure he noted the shifts and changes that were so much a part of his creation. Within an hour, it would have completely reformed itself. Within two hours, every one of his subjects would be hopelessly lost and cursing his name. He smiled.

His smile quickly faded as he felt the emptiness left by Sarah's departure twinge at him like a missing tooth. It was beginning to occur to him that he probably shouldn't have forced her to absorb so much of his magic. It had seemed safe enough at the time, since she was going to lose; the possibility that she might win had never occurred to him. Jareth won or... he won. It was what he did best. He was a gracious winner - he'd had a lot of practice at it. 

He'd had no practice at losing. He was a very, **_very _**bad loser. 

The ballroom dream had been an indulgence, he could see that now. He'd should have taken the quick and easy route and stripped her memory away and left her in the farthest corner of his kingdom until the time ran out. But he had been so confident, so sure that he could fog her mind with sparkling dreams.... He'd hoped- But no. She'd broken away. She'd run from him. She'd shattered the dream - his dream, her dream, it didn't matter - and then he'd been forced to improvise.

And then she'd won.

They never won! 

Jareth's ego, bolstered by fairly easy victories over countless hapless souls, had sustained a major blow. Over the centuries many people had come to him and he had judged each in turn and in turn found them all wanting. He'd taken their minds and twisted their bodies and shaped them into his creatures, and never doubted that that was what they deserved. He was too clever to be outwitted and too powerful to be denied. He was invincible. So it had always been and so it always would be. 

Of course, there are other possibilities, other theories as to why he had never lost before. Something about the calibre of his opponents, perhaps? Something about them being people who dealt with helpless infants by wishing them away to a semi-mythical king? 

In general, these were not bright people. These were people who got lost on the way to the corner store. Putting them in the Labyrinth and telling them to find their way to the center was akin to putting a fish in an elevator and telling it to get off at the top floor: fun to watch, but not really a fair challenge. 

Nobody ever tried to point that out to Jareth. Not twice, at any rate.

What both logic and Jareth agreed on was that Sarah was different from the others. Her delicate, touch-me-not, Alice in Fairyland personality disguised an incredibly practical core and a degree of stubbornness that rivalled Jareth's own. Instead of giving up or giving in, she'd recruited an army from among Jareth's own creatures. Instead of hiding in a corner, she'd beaten down the gates.

And because of her differences, she was able to do two things.

She solved the Labyrinth, beat the Goblin King and won freedom for herself and her brother. 

She attracted the _personal_ attention of Jareth, and in some ways Jareth was a one-trick pony. Magic was his whip, his knife and his semi-automatic rifle with targeting scope and heat vision, but he also used magic as his winning charm, his first date conversation and his "you come here often?". 

In short, whether he was seducing her or trying to maim her, Sarah was constantly being exposed to high levels of magic. Add this to the fact that the entire Labyrinth was magical in and of itself and you get a situation that has warning signs all over it. 

Sarah was free. Sarah was **_his._**

The two do not mesh well.

In fact, they can't mesh at all.

Something has to give.

--------  
Tell me what you think?  
Many more chapters to come as I edit them and get them up here... I'd forgotten how much I liked this one. *g* 


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Something Has to Give   
Author: AKA Jay  
E-Mail: ashj@sympatico.ca  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.   
Feedback: Would be appreciated.   
Summary: Wouldn't that involve some forethought on my part?   
  
Note: Wow. I got a much larger response to the first part of this than I expected. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'd forgotten how wonderful this fandom was in the comments department. (It's also pretty wonderful in most other departments too. Guess there's just something about kidnapping, sorcery, goblins and petulance that brings out the best in people. Yeah, that makes no sense.)

**Part Two**

Sarah was humming happily as she wandered around the kitchen. Her father and stepmother watched her with the kind of wary caution normally reserved for small ticking packages wrapped in brown paper and people who start conversations at cocktail parties by saying things like: _So, have you heard the Truth?_

The fact that she was smiling wasn't a cause for alarm in itself; Sarah smiled a lot. She'd perfected a wide variety of smiling styles that ran the gamut from wistful pouts to wistful grins to mocking, although still wistful, smirks.

When Sarah smiled, people thought of princesses. They thought of Ophelia. They thought of old world masterpieces featuring sad beautiful women and lots and lots of fruit. **_This_** smile would make people think of those deranged grinning clown paintings done on black velvet. They could see her _teeth_. 

And then there were her clothes. It wasn't just that she was wearing jeans. Jeans were normal for Sarah, at least since the school had officially forbidden her to wear authentic leather breeches. But the shirt above the jeans was... different. For starters, there was no lace on it. 

In fact, the blue flannel shirt seemed to be exuding a slightly embarrassed air, since as a gift of clothing from a distant relative it had plainly never really been meant to be worn. Such a bemused look might a fruitcake project if some misguided soul actually attempted to eat it. 

Something was wrong, the parents silently decided. If they hadn't been such practical people words like 'alien abduction' and 'gypsy curse' might have been running through their minds. At that, they wouldn't have been far off. 

But they were realistic people and so they independently settled on the same explanation. For an entire decade of every life, one excuse covers everything from bad hairstyles to minor felonies to that thing you did at that one party when you thought no one was watching you. (You know what I'm talking about. Don't make me get the yearbook.) With one mind the two authority figures mentally shrugged, thought Teenagers. and returned to their normal morning routine. 

Sarah, for her part, was lost in a blissful haze. She almost danced over to the stove to get her pancakes, glorying in the knowledge that the floor wasn't going to slip out from under her feet. Glancing out the window, she saw Merlin romping in the still damp grass and felt a momentary pang of regret. Ambrosius. Sir Didymus. Hoggle... I wish- 

She caught herself and clamped down hard on that train of thought, pushing nostalgia ruthlessly to the back of her mind. She forced herself to stay focused on all of the reasons why it was so **good** to be out of the Labyrinth. 

The most important thing was the total lack of life-or-death deadlines. She had a history paper due on Tuesday, but that just didn't inspire the same kind of terror. Only slightly less important was the feeling of freedom. There was something very comforting about knowing that nobody was watching her.  
  
*****

The concept of jinxing is seen as childish and superstitious by a portion of the population. This would be the portion of the population that regularly falls into open manholes. 

The more wary and less concussed know that jinxing actually falls under a little known category of natural laws. Functioning as a sort of appendix to the law of gravity, the law of jinxing is stated thus: 

"If what goes up must necessarily come down, then those who say 'Nothing can stop me now!' must necessarily be trampled to death by an unseasonable horde of elephants. And it serves them right, the cocky bastards." 

(In books of pseudo-science this law is usually referenced in the same chapter as the section on the stealth capabilities of writing utensils and the footnote explanation of why all small yipping dogs are largely nocturnal.) 

It was therefore completely understandable that Jareth would be gazing at Sarah at the precise moment when she was exulting about the fact that he wasn't. 

And she had no one to blame but herself. 

She looks so happy.   
  
During Sarah's entire adventure in the Labyrinth, Jareth had seen her smile perhaps twice. Even when he was being at his most amusing. Even when he offered her her dreams...

A small part of him felt badly that he couldn't leave her to this uncomplicated life - a very, very small part. He would be giving her a life of infinite magic, of adventures without end and luxury beyond the dreams of avarice. What were heart-shaped pancakes and pulpy orange juice compared to that?

Most importantly, he would give her Eternity. Actually, he'd already given her that. She just didn't know it yet. 

And he meant to get her back before she found out. Whether she liked it or not, Sarah belonged in the Labyrinth now. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she belonged **_to_** the Labyrinth. And if the Labyrinth was incarnated into a building, (and it was) it would most definitely _not_ be a lending library. Which is to say, Sarah couldn't simply check herself out for the next fifty years and expect no more than an occasional threatening letter. 

Jareth let the crystal dissolve and leaned back in his throne, eyes half closed as he thought. It was infuriating that he wasn't allowed to go down, grab her, bring her back and worry about explanations later. But there was a way to get around it. For Jareth, there was always a way. And as Sarah was now partly his creature, the rules could be bent. 

As he contemplated the possibilities, his mood lightened. A new game and one without time limits or the possibility of failure. 

His kind of game. 

With a half-smile he rose from his throne and walked out of the throne room to make the preparations, pausing to casually kick a few goblins into the wall. 

The goblins had straggled sheepishly back to the castle during the night, fully expecting to be punished in lengthy and creative ways for their failure. Resigned to horrific punishment, they had been even more worried by the lack thereof.

For the goblins, Jareth's suddenly playful mood was very reassuring. For Sarah, it would prove less so. 

____________  
End Part Two  
Man, what was I thinking? Seriously, you have no idea how strange this is going to get. I never should have stopped working on this one. *g*  



	3. Chapter Three

Note: Yeah, two parts this time. Why? Certainly not because I forgot to post this part earlier. ;-) Really, that's not it. I just wanted to move us closer to the main plot. Some of my favorite parts are coming up, and I can't wait for you guys to read them. 

**Part Three**  
  
Sarah started to hum a haunting Irish ballad as she walked towards her locker. With a mental eye roll, she stopped herself mid-note and switched to "Hit me Baby, One More Time". It was a lot harder to hum but it was definitely a step in the right direction.   
  
She was drawing more than a few curious looks as she meandered through the corridors. This was partly due to her habit of always moving to the rhythm of whatever she was humming, which produced a graceful floating walk when she was humming the slow melodic tunes she usually favoured.   
  
The effect when she was humming the music of Brittany Spears was different. It created much the same appearance as playing a game of vertical Twister using imaginary dots and a broken spinning wheel with the hand stuck on "Legs and hips: gyrate wildly."   
  
The other curious looks could be attributed to her change in style. High schools are rigid communities and Sarah had previously belonged to the "Arts" crowd. As such, she was contractually obligated to dress in frills, spend a lot of her time talking about books and poetry and sign up for every play and dramatic reading going.  
  
Today she walked right past the Theatre notice board without even looking at the leaflet advertising the auditions opening that day. She ignored the waves of her friends from the Drama Group and walked briskly past, feeling a slight twinge as she watched their smiles turn to puzzled frowns.   
  
They'll get over it. They wouldn't like the "new" me, anyway. Hmm... I wonder if it's too late to join the Science Club?   
  
Some people might say, "Aren't you over-reacting a little bit here, Sarah? Sure, you've had a traumatic experience but do you really want to change your whole life because of it? Why can't you just put it behind you?"   
  
To which Sarah would respond in an alarmed tone, "Who are you? How do you know about the Labyrinth?" If those points had been explained to her satisfaction she might actually address the original questions. Or then again, maybe not.  
  
"No! Yes! Go away, I don't want to have anything to do with _anyone_ who knows about the Labyrinth!" At this point, she would have backed far enough away to make a dash for the door. The last you'd see of her would be a flannel blur disappearing over the horizon. And thus would end what could have been an illuminating conversation.  
  
Nobody at the school knew about the Labyrinth, so they were forced to content themselves with stares and whispers.  
  
Still humming and doing the strangely syncopated Walk of Ostentatious Conformity (Sounds like a dance, doesn't it? It's not going to catch on. Trust me.) Sarah made it to her first class. Smiling to herself, she plunged into algebra.  
  
*****  
  
To the great shock of everyone, Jareth **_wasn't_** watching Sarah. He hadn't even set eyes on her since that morning.   
  
All things considered, this was probably for the best. If Jareth had seen her wandering jerkily down the corridors he wouldn't have been able to control himself. He would have appeared in the hallway, shaken the life out of Sarah and stuffed her into something dripping with sequins. Romantic music would have come out of nowhere. There would have been dancing. And singing. And more dancing.  
  
Fine, it might not sound that bad. But she would probably have been late for her class. And it would definitely have put a serious crimp in Jareth's Plan A.   
  
There are only three ways for someone to get into the Labyrinth.   
  
1) You can be wished away by someone who knows the right words and has serious problems with thinking before they speak. (Avoid this. Your life will then be dependent on the abilities of another person against Jareth. And he cheats like crazy.)  
  
2) You can be taken away if you ask nicely and Jareth happens to be listening and is in one of his playful moods. (Not recommended. He tends to forget about bringing people who do this back to Earth.)  
  
3) You can sneak in through the back door, located in the meat freezer of a kosher deli in Newark. Take a right at Charles street, go through the entrance beside the Baskin Robbins, it's the door hidden behind the sliced meat case. (Recommended. It puts you in the Firey Forest but it's the only way that gives you the option of leaving.)  
  
Nobody really wanted to wish Sarah away except for Jareth and it didn't work for him. It would be difficult, not to say impossible, to lure her to a meat freezer in Newark.   
  
That left option number two. Sarah was going to ask him to take her away. Back to the Labyrinth, back to her home. One way or the other.  
  
With a half smile on his face Jareth stood back and looked at the newly redesigned Labyrinth. It was a thing of beauty. It would almost be a shame if he never had to use it, if Sarah just fell into his arms and begged him to take her back. If she... No. No, it wouldn't be a shame.   
  
Summoning a crystal, he checked on his pre...um...target? Fine. Prey it is. Unflattering, but accurate. Sarah was gleefully sketching sine curves, her hair falling forward like a dark wing over her face. Jareth ran his finger across the smooth surface as if to brush the strands from her eyes, savouring these last few moments of her contentment.   
  
He vanished.  
  
Let the games begin.

Let's have a moment of silence for Sarah's contentment.   
  
_______  
  
Man, I was *in* Newark last year. Why didn't I go? What was I thinking? It's exactly these kinds of missed opportunities that are going to haunt me when I'm older.   
  



	4. Chapter Four

**Part Four **

Sarah sat back and looked at the finished equations with satisfaction. Done. I can't believe I hated Math so much... That was easy.   
  
A blonde girl named Lisa leaned over from her seat beside our overcompensating heroine and whispered, "Sarah, what's going on?"  
  
Sarah looked up at the front of the room where her teacher, Mr. Morgan, was absorbed in a book with "101 uses for Duct Tape" displayed prominently on its cover. She shifted to face her friend. "What do you mean?" Sarah whispered, "Nothing's going on!"  
  
"What are you _wearing_?" Lisa asked. "And did you just finish all the problems?" Lisa's own elegant silk blouse looked at Sarah's shirt with disdain. It made it perfectly clear in the subtle language of textiles that it would have nothing to do with such a brazen flouting of the Haberdashery Code.  
  
"It's a perfectly nice shirt." Sarah bristled. "And yes, I did. They're easy." The flannel projected an air of hurt innocence. None of this was _its_ fault. It had been quite happy in the closet, thank you. There was a pair of forgotten neon leggings back there that it had been getting very friendly with.  
  
Lisa shook her head. "I repeat: What's going on?" Hah, the silk blouse retorted. Everyone knew that discards always envy the clothing that gets worn, so it's no use acting like you're a victim of circumstances.  
  
Coming to the end of Chapter Three: 'Duct Tape and the Rodent Kingdom', Mr. Morgan glanced up and caught sight of the low voiced interrogation going on in the back row, completely missing the far more heated silent argument going on about eight inches lower.   
  
"Sarah!" He called sternly, "Lisa! Back to your work."  
  
Lisa looked hurriedly down at her paper. 

Sarah knew the respite wouldn't last long. She wouldn't be surprised if Lisa managed to somehow smuggle a bare light bulb and a length of rubber hose into the next class. I'd better come up with a good story before then.   
  
Much to the disappointment of her shirt, which had just managed to score a telling point by maliciously pointing out the amount of synthetic fibres used in the making of the blouse, Sarah got up and approached the teacher's desk.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Morgan? I'm done the work, may I go to the library for the rest of the period?"  
  
The teacher waved her out without looking up from the particularly intriguing diagram he was studying.  
  
The corridor seemed much larger when it was empty. Sarah's steps echoed on the stone floor. In the silence and the emptiness the corridor seemed crowded with shadows. .   
  
No! Don't think like that. Shadows don't matter. Not anymore.   
  
Sarah reached her locker in record time. She started to grab for her latest fantasy book automatically, but drew back her hand before she touched it as if it would burn her. Instead, she took out her hardcover copy of Lord of the Flies and almost ran to the library. Once there, she settled down in a quiet corner and tried to focus on the book.   
  
As everybody knows who has read the Lord of the Flies, this is not an easy thing to do. Classic of Literature it may be, but very few people can immerse themselves in the story without feeling the need to stop every few pages and read a comic book.   
  
Sarah was no exception. It was only a matter of minutes before she was staring out of the library window.   
  
It must be admitted that the world wasn't looking at its best that day. The storm winds had torn branches off the trees and strewn them around the landscape like a giant's tinker toys. The sky cast a thin grey light over the unimpressive scene. It presented the general impression that not only was this somewhere you wouldn't want to live, but visiting wasn't looking that appealing either.  
  
A vision of the Labyrinth floated up behind Sarah's eyes; she fought against the urge to make comparisons. It _was_ beautiful... but dangerous. A little voice inside her mind said, "You didn't get hurt." But it wasn't because she couldn't get hurt. She'd been lucky. "You could have had your dreams..." Yes, and let Toby be a goblin? Not going to happen. Her interior voice had a distinctly lilt to its tone when it spoke again. "Toby? Was that all that held you back?"  
  
Humans have a tendency to assume that all voices inside their head are their own. This affords other species a lot of harmless amusement. In the case of the telepathic gophers of the Northwest, people tend to find themselves digging deep holes for no apparent reason.  
  
This is mainly because revealing that you hear voices can lead to the rest of your life being spent doing craft projects and dressing entirely in pastels. And with the notable exception of Martha Stewart, most people don't see that as a Good Thing.  
  
Even so, Sarah was getting suspicious.   
  
She was surprised to realize that her eyes had drifted closed during her interior monologue. She hurriedly opened them, squinting in the sudden brightness. The darkness was bad for her. It led to thinking about things that she shouldn't be thinking about. She should stay out in the light even if it did hurt her eyes...   
  
Come to think of it, it hadn't been hurting her eyes a few minutes ago. There was definitely more light coming from behind her than there had been.  
  
Sarah paused  
  
She wondered how painful it would be if she jumped out the window. It was only three stories up; maybe she'd only break a few unimportant bones. It would be worth it if she didn't have to turn around and see where the light was coming from. Of course, with her luck she'd probably break an ankle. She needed both of those ankles. Can't very well run away without ankles.  
  
Sarah turned away from the window and looked at the table behind her.  
  
Light shone from each of the uncountable facets of the crystal rose and scattered rainbows like rose petals across the surface of the table. Every part of it glowed, as if a star had been somehow carved into the semblance of a bloom. The places where its light didn't touch seemed somehow darker and uglier than they had been. Sarah took a breath.

She stretched out a trembling hand and stroked a shining petal. The crystal was as soft as skin under her fingers but cold, terribly cold.  
  
It was impossible to miss the contrast between the brilliant perfection of the rose and the dark, scarred wood of the table it lay on. A warning. A choice.  
  
Very subtle.  
  
Sarah stared at the rose for a long moment. She blinked several times. It failed to disappear. Very deliberately she picked up her book and stood up, looking down at the shining thing on the table. There was a look that might have been surrender in her eyes. She brought the book down on the table with all her strength. Again. And again. And again. Shards of crystal flew everywhere as she smashed the fragile token into powder.  
  
Then again, it might not have been surrender. It might have been anger. 

It's a judgement call, really.   
  
------------  
Hope you guys are still enjoying this I know I am. Ah, an answer to some questions:  
  
Yes, this is a Jareth and Sarah story. Kind of. In the same way that the movie was, with some changes up ahead.   
  
Is this an Evil Jareth story? Kind of. In the same way that the movie was. With some changes up ahead.   
  
Have I mentioned that this gets really odd? 


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Something Has to Give  
Author: AKA Jay   
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.  
Feedback: Would be appreciated.  
Summary: Wouldn't that involve some forethought on my part?   
  
**Part Five**  
  
Sarah stood over the library table, an avenging angel with a copy of _Lord of the Flies_ clutched in her hands like a sword. She was breathing heavily and there was blood on her cheek.  
  
On the table, the shattered pieces of crystal glowed like a million dying stars. The twisted fragments of what had once been a rose stared up at Sarah in mute reproach, accusing her of destroying something beautiful for no fault of its own. Unless you think that being otherworldly, uncannily beautiful and rippling with magic are faults. In that case, you should probably stay away from Jareth. He wouldn't take kindly to being hit over the head with _Lord of the Flies_. It was lucky that he wasn't in the library at that moment, because the odds were heavily in favour of Sarah doing exactly that. To clarify, it was lucky for _**Sarah**_.  
  
She wasn't feeling lucky.  
  
Thoughts chased themselves through her mind starting with a dazed _It can't be true..._, stumbling through a desperate _I won't let it be true.._. and ending with heartfelt _I'm going to **kill** him...!_  
  
In between these relatively coherent thoughts, fear and anger fought for dominance of the mental playing field. Happiness tried to put on a half-time show but was chased off the field by disbelief and had to lock itself in the ticket booth.  
  
To put it mildly, Sarah was confused. She stared at the glittering crystal fragments as if she could force them to melt into some more plebeian form through sheer force of will. Mind you, if theyhad suddenly began to change shape she would have screamed her lungs out. There's no pleasing some people.   
  
A hand fell on her shoulder.  
  
Sarah turned quickly and saw... nothing. Realising that she had inadvertently set her angle of vision to Goblin King Height, she looked down to see Mrs Lunney, the librarian, staring at her worriedly.  
  
"Are you all right, dear?" Mrs Lunney said.   
  
Sarah tried to smile reassuringly, the expression turning into a grimace as she felt a sudden shock of pain. She lifted one hand to her cheek and felt the stickiness of blood against her fingers.   
  
One of the crystal shards must have cut me- the crystal!   
  
Twisting around, Sarah looked over her shoulder and saw with no small relief that the crystalline remnants had vanished. The cut would be hard for her to explain away; the crystal would have been impossible.   
  
"Yes, I brought one of my many crystal vases to school today and clumsy me, I broke it! Why are the pieces glowing? Um..." Right. That would have been fun.  
  
Sarah smiled at Miss Lunney, keeping her hand arched protectively over the cut on her cheek. "I'm okay," she said. "Really, it's just a scratch."  
  
Miss Lunney looked puzzled. "From what?" She said, glancing around the library, which like most libraries was as safe as the lawsuit-minded could make it without actually padding the walls. The most dangerous things in there were probably the obligatory kitten-hanging-off-a-branch posters.  
  
Drawing on her still present acting skills, Sarah strove to look sincere and said, "It's an old cut. I was doing some Drama exercises and it must have opened it up again."  
  
"Oh, you poor thing!" Miss Lunney said sympathetically. "You should have the nurse look at it right away. "  
  
Sarah nodded and scuttled quickly out of the library before Miss Lunney could ask more questions. Her copy of _Lord of the Flies_ stayed behind, forgotten on the library table.   
  
As soon as she was out of sight of the library, Sarah changed direction. As much as she would like to avoid painful infections and possible lifetime scarring, she couldn't go to the nurse.   
  
For all Sarah knew about the medical profession, a simple blood test might be able to prove that otherworldly forces had caused her cut. The nurse would tell her parents, her parents would tell the media and before you knew it Sarah would be naked on a cold metal table while government scientists with very sharp knives and no concept of personal space experimented on her helpless form.   
  
This train of thought explains a lot about Sarah in general and her decision-making processes in particular. It's also a pretty convincing argument for the Amish way of life.  
  
Sarah made her way to the girls' washroom through the empty halls, ducking into doorways to avoid the few teachers wandering about.   
  
Once there, Sarah started to moisten a paper towel in the sink but found herself hypnotized by the water swirling down the drain. Concentrating on the soothingly repetitive motion was infinitely preferable to thinking about what was happening to her. Unless there'd been a breakthrough in silicate flora that she'd somehow missed, that rose wasn't normal for this dimension. It wasn't over. Damn it.   
  
She lifted her eyes to the mirror and dabbed gently at the blood that stained her cheek. When she lifted the reddish paper towel away the blood was gone and the skin of her cheek was unbroken, though slightly moist. Her eyes narrowed, Sarah touched the place where the wound had been. She was perversely angry at the lack of pain.   
  
"Don't try to be nice!" Sarah said aloud, instantly regretting it when she realised that the comment could be construed as an invitation to dialogue. Her mind struck up the same mantra of hope that had sustained her during her travels in the Labyrinth, a constant tumbling stream of thought that babbled _Pleasedon'tbewatchingpleasedon'tbewatching_ over and over again.  
  
It didn't work this time either. 

"I am 'nice'." Jareth spoke from behind her, the undertone of menace twisting the words into mockery.   
  
The shock drove the breath from Sarah's lungs and left her speechless. Considering that the only response that she could think of was "Are not!" this was all to the good. Moments of almost perfect silence were measured out by the steady dripping of the obligatory faulty tap.  
  
"Sarah."   
  
He's not here. I'm not here! There is no here. Keeping her eyes fixed on her reflection, Sarah wondered if someone could, hypothetically, drown herself in a sink. I'm not that lucky.   
  
Suppressing the urge to lunge for the door, she turned slowly to face Jareth.   
  
He should have looked ridiculous. The harsh overhead lights should have deadened the alabaster whiteness of his skin and bleached the laughter from his eyes. Failing that, being surrounded by pale green tile walls should have made the black and silver ensemble that worked so well in his domain seem tacky and overdone.  
  
It was very irritating that none of those things happened. Instead, Jareth's presence seemed to call hidden unreality from the sterile room. Once-wan shadows darkened with his power and spread across the walls and floor like draperies of black velvet. Innocuous porcelain fixtures took on the aspect of predatory plants waiting to trap the unwary. For the hand-dryers, this was simply a matter of bringing out already present tendencies. They're nasty little beasts.  
  
Jareth took a piece of her world and made it his own.   
  
Something that would have sent a smile screaming in the other direction curled Jareth's lips upwards as he watched Sarah absorb the changes happening around her. When her eyes finally met his, renewed anger had burned her shock to ashes.  
  
"I won." Sarah said firmly, the words both a plea and a threat.   
  
The unspoken corollary, _so go away_!, hung between them. A threatening addendum, _Or I'll MAKE you go!_, briefly attempted to make itself felt but was viciously attacked by the unequal power balance and wound up playing a game of Scrabble with Happiness in a dusty corner of Sarah's mind.   
  
"True." Jareth drawled, blissfully unaware of all these mental manoeuvrings. "You won _that_ game."  
  
The emphasised "that" hit Sarah right between the eyes. As she struggled with the implications, Jareth took the opportunity to really look at her for the first time since his arrival. His elegant brows drew together as a shock beyond words spread across his face.  
  
_"What are you wearing?!"_  
  
Well, almost beyond words.  
  
___________  
  
Snerk. Yeah, I amuse myself. It's strange that I enjoy writing about Jareth and Sarah so much. I'm such a freakily suggestible person that I normally avoid writing about the omnipotent. Otherwise I get all silly and scared when I see shadows on the road or find things not where I put them or find messages written in rose petals in my bathwater *blink* Paranoia isn't pretty, folks. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Something Has to Give **

E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.

Feedback: Would be appreciated.

Summary: Wouldn't that involve some forethought on my part?   
  
**Note:** Didn't get to reply to the comments on last chapter yet, but thought you'd probably be *very* unhappy with me if I held the finished chapter off until I got to them. (God knows that I would. In fact, all you writers out there? Don't do that. Seriously. It's like kicking a puppy- a lot.)

Replies coming soon but, just so you know, I read all the comments several times over. Then I printed them out. Soon I plan to start showing them to people at dinner parties. Then I plan to stop being invited to dinner parties and spend all my time at home making large freeform sculptures inspired by the comments, which by then are tattooed over most of my body.  
  
Or, y'know, something sane.  
**  
Part Six**  
  
It was somehow fitting that Jareth would immediately focus on her clothing. Sarah wondered fleetingly if she could have skipped going through the labyrinth entirely if she'd been wearing denim overalls and a shirt with unicorns on it. Maybe Jareth would have been too horrified to allow her into his domain.   
  
Sarah waited hopefully for his overdeveloped sense of sartorial elegance to force him to leave. If this worked, she vowed to herself, she'd wear nothing but golfing clothes for the rest of her life. Plaids with checks, green with purple no fashion error was too great a sacrifice if it meant that he would **_leave her alone_.**  
  
Jareth didn't disappear. If anything, he seemed to be getting more solid, drawing strength from the darkening shadows and the growing unheard heartbeat of magic in the air.   
  
He took a step forward and was suddenly, frighteningly, only inches away.   
  
Sarah kept her gaze focused firmly on his shirt and found that even that wasn't safe. Looking at the shirt was like looking into the night sky, if the night sky was close enough to touch and almost obscenely inviting. Her hands itched to stroke it. Of course, they also itched to slap Jareth across the face as hard as she could. She curled her hands into fists to keep from doing either, since both would probably produce much the same result.  
  
"It doesn't matter if you ignore me, Sarah. " Jareth said, and she cringed to hear her name on his lips again. "I'm not going to go away. "   
  
No? Damn.   
  
"Why are you here at all?" Sarah said, keeping her head down.  
  
Paying no attention to the question, Jareth reached out and pinched the collar of Sarah's shirt between thumb and forefinger. His hand was a thought away from touching her. If she swayed, even a little, she would feel his fingers against her skin.  
  
"Is this what you fought so hard for, Sarah?" Jareth asked. "Is this why you refused my generous offer and ran from my world?" A contained chuckle rumbled though him. "To have the freedom to wear truly hideous clothing?"   
  
Sarah's eyes closed for a moment, and she let out a heavy sigh. Inaudibly, so did her shirt. That was it.  
  
Leaning away from his hand, Sarah snapped her head up and looked Jareth straight in the chin. "Look!" She said firmly. "I don't need fashion advice from **you**! I won! Get out of this bathroom - the **girl's** bathroom and leave me alone!"   
  
Jareth failed to do so. This will come as a surprise to everyone who hasn't been paying attention. Just so you all catch up, here's the gist of it: Jareth isn't good with following orders.  
  
Frankly, it was a tribute to his self-control that he didn't lose his cool right there. A sardonic musical number was an almost audible hum in his throat, pushing towards his lips, waiting to burst out. Perhaps sensing that Sarah would take the opportunity to leave, he pushed it back. Besides, a magically transfigured public washroom lacks a certain something in the acoustics department.  
  
"I'm not here to upset you." Jareth said, in what was at best a half-truth. "I'm here to give you another chance."   
  
Even in Sarah's somewhat flustered state, that sank in. Panic overrode caution and she raised her eyes to his with the wild hope that she would see laughter there and know that all of this was some final joke, he was joking with her, ha ha ha!  
  
Because if he wasn't oh god, if he wasn't.   
  
(An example may be helpful here for those of you who have never been through the Labyrinth. Let's say you're cleaning the top window of your house and you fall out. Suddenly you're falling, and screaming, and you're not thinking about dying, you're not thinking about the pain, you're not thinking at all. Your mind is gone; all that's left is the scream. You survive! It's a miracle. You stumble back up to the top floor of your house with a can of black paint, heading for that same damn streaky window. And then Death steps out of your guest bathroom, tall and dark and cadaverous and says, "I'm going to give you another chance. Do you want to jump again? Or would you rather that I pushed you this time? Your choice. ")  
  
So when Sarah looked into Jareth's eyes she wasn't trapped in them, as she had been so many times before, by the lacework of his lashes and the endless mirrored halls of his eyes. Fear gave her strength.  
  
"I don't want another chance to go through the Labyrinth." Sarah said very politely, very quietly, hoping that he could sense the truth of it. "Never. I'll never do that again."  
  
She turned to leave and found that Jareth had moved when she wasn't looking. He was even closer now, leaning forward with his hands resting on the wall to either side of her, effectively trapping her. She couldn't breathe; he was too close.  
  
"You can't leave yet." Jareth said. "That's not what I'm offering you this time."  
  
His smile was wolfish and not just because of the pointed canines. It had very little to do with the physical and everything to do with energy. Power rippled off him in waves, power with no limits but Jareth's will. It filled the air like an unseen smoke; Sarah felt the sparking touch of it against every inch of her skin and shivered and felt the power**_ like_** that and press harder. It was wild energy, energy that existed only for the pleasure and amusement of its master and it nearly brought Sarah to her knees.  
  
What's really frightening is that he's still trying to be subtle.   
  
"Then... what?" A small tremor ran through Sarah's voice before she clamped down on it.   
  
"I'm offering you a chance." Jareth's voice was smooth and dangerous as he continued. "A chance to live as you were meant to, in a world of beauty. You can **_be_** what you pretend to be, Sarah."  
  
What Jareth was referring to, in his own cryptic way, was the plays that Sarah had performed in. Namely, "Camelot", "Hamlet" and "Robin Hood". (No, not "Men in Tights". As bizarrely appropriate as that would have been.) Given both her choice of plays and her tendency to spend large amounts of her time in picturesque locations quoting poetry more at less at random, it was not surprising that Jareth would see that as the ultimate inducement.   
  
Truth to tell, it did sound fairly tempting. Despite her newfound appreciation for the finer points of reality, there was a lot of the old Sarah left. That part of her was purring like a kitten, had already picked out all the names for her ladies in waiting and had started to design her first ballgown. The other part would rather poke her own eyes out with a knitting needle. It was going to be a close call.  
  
Sarah stared sightlessly into nothing, fully occupied by the mental debate. 

Jareth, always one to jump up and down on the scales of Fate, was doing his best to swing the vote his way. His voice was a constant melodic background rhythm to the sound of Sarah's thoughts. He spoke to her of never having to worry or be afraid or uncertain. He spoke to her of living forever in beauty, of an eternal life lived without pain or ugliness or cruelty. And weaving through all those threads was the final hidden meaning: he would be there with her. Forever.   
  
It wasn't clear whether that was a plus or a minus.  
  
Another spontaneous outbreak of song was narrowly averted when Sarah pulled herself back to reality. Needing space, even inches of space, she turned around within the cage of his arms and faced the sink. She could feel Jareth behind her, a man-shaped black hole of possibilities, pulling her towards a future that she'd thought was dead and gone.   
  
Sarah looked up into the mirror and froze. It wasn't just the sight of Jareth standing breath-stealingly close behind her, watching her. It wasn't just that the hand-dryers appeared to be forming some sort of hunting party.   
  
No, what kept her gaze riveted to the reflective surface of the mirror was _**her**_. Her, with her hair pulled back from her face by dark blue ribbons. Her, dressed in a flowing tunic of midnight blue velvet with beads sparkling in it like raindrops.  
  
(Back in her closet, the flannel was trying to explain to the unhappy neon leggings exactly where it'd been all day. It promised to be a long explanation. It was dreading the part where it explained how it had reappeared neatly on a hanger amid a flash of silver and faint chiming of bells.)  
  
Sarah let out a wordless shriek. Catching Jareth by surprise, she ducked under one of his arms of and sped towards the exit. She paused with her hand on the handle. "Leave. Me. Alone!" She said.  
  
She opened the door, pausing again with it half open. Her face twisted with something like regret. She said, "And I _**liked**_ that shirt!"  
  
The door slammed shut behind her, but not before one of the hand-dryers had scuttled through the opening.  
  
Jareth sighed. He'd been so close...  
  
Perhaps it was time to look into buses to Newark.  
  
____  
  
End Part Six  
  
What do I find so amusing about shirts- and hand-dryers too, for that matter? I don't know. I'd go to a therapist, but then he might cure me. There's something to be said for finding pleasure in small, stupid things. :)  
  
Just as a side note, some of you have said in the comments that you're just repeating yourself. For the love of pete, repeat yourself. Copy your earlier comments verbatim if you like. I just like to know that, in your opinion, the story isn't markedly deteriorating with each part. *g* (Heh. I used to have a commenter who only gave me backwards comments. If she *really* liked something, I'd get a three page rant about my grammar.)  
  
AKA Jay


	7. Chapter Seven

Title: Something Has to Give  
Author: AKA Jay   
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.  
Feedback: Would be appreciated.   
  
**Note:** Hah! Caught up on replying to comments, it's a good feeling. All virtuous and such. *g* You know, I must have the best commenters in the world. Really, those people are _funny!_ Reading the comments is almost like reading a conversation, even though it would have to be a conversation in a lunatic asylum. Still, good clean fun.  
  
I have a little present for you guys... fan art! Okay, technically author art. But I'm a fan of the movie in general and Jareth and Sarah in particular, so you should just let it slide. What you basically have here is my version of the moment Sarah looks in the mirror and realises that she now has ribbons in her hair and such like. I'm quite fond of this picture, so if you're going to mock it... be subtle.  
  
Jareth and Sarah in the mirror: http://xanadu-dreams.com/jarethsarah1.jpg 

Close-up of the faces: http://xanadu-dreams.com/jarethsarah.jpg  
  
Hope you guys like the picture, I had a fun time making it. Oh, and the story too. Fun all over the place for me. :-)  
  
** Part Seven**  
  
Sarah stormed away from the bathroom. The echoes of the slammed door followed her down the hallway and bounced off the walls. But where normal echoes would have faded away within moments, these echoes just got louder and louder, echo piling on top of echo on top of echo until a deafening percussive chorus trailed Sarah down the hallway.  
  
Sarah didn't care. In her anger and fear it seemed only right that the ground should shudder under her feet and the air be ripped apart by sound. The ground _should_ shake! The air _should_ scream! Shake like she was shaking, scream like she wanted to!   
  
Her fist lashed out and hit a locker as she passed; the crash of metal joined the other noises, joyfully multiplying into a sound like someone crumpling the world's largest sheet of tinfoil.   
  
Sarah was almost running now, trailing her retinue of chaos down the hallway like a noisy cloak. All she wanted was to get as much distance between her and Jareth as possible. Actually, what she'd really like was to get an impossible distance between them. The distance between an ought-to-be-imaginary kingdom and a public high school would do nicely. Failing that, she'd take what she could get.  
  
Reaching her locker, Sarah slammed the door open and began searching for her gym clothes. There must be something other than this... this... An accurate description would be "This very nice velvet shirt." but those probably weren't the words she was searching for.  
  
The lights went out. The noises cut off.   
  
There are many, many reasons why a school building might lose power. You can't go around blaming everything that happens on supernatural entities.   
  
(Technically, you can. But then you run the risk of actually attracting their attention.)  
  
Many things happen for natural reasons, propelled by a logical sequence of events.  
  
Needless to say, Sarah's mind didn't immediately jump to the correct and logical conclusion. That is, she didn't think, "Oh, an escaped hand-dryer recently imbued with magical energies must have found its way into the lighting wires in the ceiling."   
  
To be fair, this lapse in her reasoning faculties was understandable. Sarah was still operating on a very primitive operating system: fight or flight, hunter or hunted. There is only one word in the language of the hunted; that word can be roughly translated as 'enemy', and alternatively as 'death'. Who was ruining her life? Jareth. Why did the lights go out? Jareth. What causes global warming? Jareth. He was the answer to all of her problems, and not in a good way.  
  
She could feel his presence in the shadows that had swallowed the clean comforting lines of the lockers.   
  
There was something rolling out of the darkness.  
  
Sarah heard the faint whirr as it traveled down the hallway, heading straight for her. Her first instinct was to dive into the locker and shut the door.   
  
Don't be stupid, she told herself. It's a crystal, not a grenade! Probably nothing bad will happen. Maybe nothing bad will happen. Hm. Before Sarah could pursue that line of thought to its inevitable conclusion, the object thumped against her foot.  
  
The roll of duct tape lay innocently on the floor, trying to ignore Sarah's intently focused stare. It was as if she was waiting for it to change shape and become something different. Rounder, harder... more magical. Duct tape _can _change shape, but it's a closely guarded secret within the species and most non-duct tape beings can't tell the difference between the two shapes anyway. Nevertheless, in a few seconds a new shape did appear.   
  
It was Mr. Morgan.   
  
Breathing heavily through his nose, Mr. Morgan jogged up to Sarah and said, "Have you seen my... Ah, there it is!"   
  
He bent down and retrieved the by now thoroughly nervous duct tape. A worn copy of '101 Uses for Duct Tape' was held under his arm like a bible. He was smiling to himself in a way that Sarah found somehow disturbing.   
  
"Mr. Morgan," Sarah said tentatively. "What's going on? Why are the lights out?"  
  
Mr. Morgan focused on Sarah for the first time. She wished he hadn't. "Don't worry," he said. "It's mice in the wiring. I'll have it straightened out in no time." He hefted the roll of duct tape in his hand as if testing its weight.  
  
Sarah looked back and forth between the duct tape and Mr. Morgan's face. She had the sudden urge to grab the duct tape and run away very quickly. Instead, she nodded as politely as she could, offered him her best smile and watched as he lumbered off back into the shadows.  
  
Turning back to her open locker, Sarah paused. The inside of the locker was completely dark, so dark that it might as well have been a bottomless pit set into the wall.   
  
She cautiously reached into the locker and watched with horrified fascination as her fingers disappeared into the darkness. She snatched her hand back, very relieved when it came out without a struggle. That was when she felt the wind on her face.  
  
A second later, Sarah snapped the combination lock shut and let out a deep breath. There were times, she decided, when being in the safety of a large group outweighed the need to find ugly clothing. She headed back to her math class, avoiding dark shadows and public washrooms. The classroom seemed very bright to her when she got there, even though the light that filtered through the dirty windows was gray and dim.   
  
As could be expected, the students were reveling in the break. Lisa waved at Sarah from her spot in one of the small groups within the large noisy mass.  
  
As Sarah slid into the seat beside her, Lisa and her blouse did a simultaneous double take.  
  
"Sarah!" Lisa said. "That shirt is gorgeous!"   
  
The silk blouse cast a disparaging glance over the otherworldly creation. Grudgingly it conceded that it was better than the loathsome flannel.   
  
NOT, it hurried to add, that the velvet was in any way superior to itself.  
  
Sarah barely restrained herself from going for Lisa's throat. "Thank you." She replied icily, baring her teeth in a parody of a smile.  
  
Not surprisingly, Lisa was startled. Possibly Sarah should try to emulate the cheery attitude of her new shirt, which was laughing hysterically at the silk blouse's claim of superiority.   
  
Laugh all you want, the silk blouse made clear with a subtle shifting of fibers. You're _obviously_ new. The word acrylic is branded on your every thread. Does it say dry clean only on your label? I think not.  
  
"Um... Is something wrong?" Lisa said.  
  
Wrong? What could be wrong? Ah ha ha ha! Oh, damn it. Realizing that hysterical laughter in your thoughts is rarely good, Sarah attempted to squash down her emotions. She took a deep breath and smiled at Lisa. "Nothing's wrong," she said, "Really. I just got a little freaked out when the lights went off, that's all."   
  
As the two humans talked, the debate between the two shirts was becoming more heated. The velvet had been forced to admit that, being made by magic, it didn't have a label. The silk had pressed its advantage and accused the velvet of being a home economics sewing project gone terribly wrong.   
  
The velvet had been deeply offended by the accusation; it wasn't responding well. It managed to convey quite clearly that it had the power to blast the silk blouse into the Pits of Oblivion where moths would chew it to rags, red wine and blood would fall like water from the sky and the sun would bleach it to the texture of sackcloth. The only way any shirt could escape the Pits of Oblivion, the velvet tunic added menacingly, was as a dishrag.   
  
It was definitely its father's shirt.  
  
Lisa, although still eyeing Sarah warily, had moved on to other topics. "So," she asked, "Are we still going to a movie tonight?"  
  
Movie? After this? Ha. I'm going home, where I can be... alone. All by myself. In my room.   
  
Sarah thought about that for a moment.   
  
"Sure," Sarah said. "I'll meet you at the theatre."  
  
The PA system came on with a painfully loud burst of static. "Attention! Due to the lack of power, school will be ending twenty minutes early today. Please leave in an orderly manner."  
  
The rest of the announcements were buried under the noise of two thousand people running for the exits.   
  
Back inside the building, the tinny voice of the announcer added a final unheard plea:  
  
"If anyone has seen Mr. Morgan, please tell him to come to the office immediately."  
  
"Mr. Morgan, are you there? Can you hear me?"  
  
" "  
  
"Jim?"  
  
__________  
End Part Seven  


*snicker* Yep, still amusing myself. Ah, that poor shirt. (Which shirt? You'll see.) Ah, Mr. Morgan. You know, I actually rewatched the movie a few nights ago, and it was much spookier than I'd remembered. If there had been hand-dryers in the Underground, I'm pretty sure they'd be exactly like mine except glittery.   
  
A final plug for my picture, because it's nifty and I'm fond of it and some people don't read author's notes. (Like me, for example. Shame on me.)  
  
Again, my version of the moment Sarah looks in the mirror and realises that Jareth has been playing Princess Barbie with her wardrobe again. Once more, I'm quite fond of this picture, so if you're going to mock it... be subtle. :-)   
  
Jareth and Sarah in the mirror: http://xanadu-dreams.com/jarethsarah1.jpg 

Close-up of the faces: http://xanadu-dreams.com/jarethsarah.jpg  



	8. Chapter Eight

Title: Something Has to Give  
Author: AKA Jay  
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.  
Feedback: Would be appreciated. :)  
Summary: Wouldn't that involve some forethought on my part?   
  
**Author's notes:**  
  
General: I reply to all my reviews in the review section, so if you ever asked me a question or well, said anything, odds are there's a response in there for you. Notice how I say 'response' rather than 'coherent reply'. There's a reason for that.   
  
Re: The Picture: A few people have asked, so I figured I'd put in my notes. It's a sketch, not a photo manipulation and thank you. *g* A new hobby, but I enjoy it.  
  
** Part Eight**  
  
Sarah couldn't bring herself to run home before the movie, despite her fervent desire to change into something less Jareth-related. Her room, once a sanctuary from reality and a place where dreams could come true, was now... exactly the same, actually. Except now it's a bad thing. Ah, the ever changing tapestry of life.  
  
The frightening sameness of her room removing that as a viable option, Sarah was forced to turn to other means of occupying her time for the hour before the movie started. The best thing would have been for her to spend the time with a punching bag or, failing that, a large sack of hay with 'You say that so often' written on it in big black letters.  
  
Unfortunately for all concerned, Sarah wasn't of a violent turn of mind. You might not be able to prove that from recent events, but it was still true. She decided to go window-shopping instead, starting at the opposite end of the mall from the movie theatre and slowly ambling her way through.   
  
The mall contained the usual motley assortment of loud, flashy chain stores. There were CD stores blaring the latest hit over and over and over again, there were electronics stores filled with beeping black boxes, and there were clothing stores also blaring the latest hit over and over and over again while displaying headless mannequins that brought a whole new meaning to the term 'fashion victim'  
  
Sarah paused.  
  
This store was new. It didn't _look_ new. The wood that bordered the wide plate glass windows in front was worn to the weathered gold of old wood. The large gilt letters that spelled out 'Oddities' across the top of the storefront were cracked and peeling around the edges. It definitely gave the impression of being very old and very permanent and it definitely hadn't been there yesterday.  
  
The harsh fluorescent light of the mall seemed to bend around the store; the objects inside were half-hidden in shadow, only enough visible to intrigue. The soft glow of candlelight skimmed over the harsh angles of some unknown weapon, lingered on the inviting softness of a comfortable chair and was ripped into rainbows by the veiled claws of gemstones.  
  
And there, poking out from the shadow shrouded depths of an antique armoire, was It. It not only deserved the use of capital letters, It demanded them. It would track you down and jump up and down on your broken and bleeding body unless you used them.   
  
Mind you, it wasn't quite clear what It was. Its shape seemed to shimmer in the air, creating vague suggestions of possibilities. As Sarah watched It, she first thought that maybe It was a dress. (Her mind, having finely honed survival instincts, edited that to "Dress.")   
  
Not just any old dress, of course. It would be a Dress of rainbows made cloth, everything that she'd ever wanted spun into silk that would melt onto her skin. It would be beautiful and she would be beautiful in It.   
  
Or, Sarah thought when she looked again, maybe It was a book. (Book.) It would be the Guidebook to Life that she'd always wanted to have. It would have all the answers, and she would never make another wrong decision or have to wonder what to do.   
  
Whatever It was, one thing Sarah was sure of. It was important. It was desirable. It was life altering. It was the answer to the question no one could put into words, It was what every human being on the planet spent their whole lives waiting for. It was...  
  
It was something to be avoided at all costs.  
  
"Oh, no." Sarah said aloud, ignoring the curious looks of passer-bys. "Oh, no_ thank you_!"  
  
She was mildly insulted that Jareth thought she'd fall for something like this. Her? After all the fantasy books she'd read? Hah. Not frigging likely.  
  
She knew how these things were supposed to work. Now she was supposed to be lured inside the shop by the pull of ah, Something indefinable and magical. Then, the second she's inside- bang! The door slams shut behind her. Sarah mimed a frightened look, bringing her hands to her face. (By this point, the rest of the mall patrons had written her off as street theatre.)   
  
And then, Sarah thought with a mental eye roll, the shadows swirl around me like living creatures and I say, 'Who's there' in a trembling voice and there's a figure in the darkness and it's not going to happen!  
  
The force of fictional documentary evidence pressed against her, the naiveté of a thousand feather-brained heroines struggling to push her into the store.   
  
With a tremendous effort of will, Sarah turned and walked away, leaving behind the beckoning... um, Thing and more than four dollars in small change that shoppers had tossed at her feet.   
  
The Forces of Unalterable Destiny, who got that name for a reason, were understandably miffed by her refusal to play along. The mysterious-old-shop-that-hadn't-been-there-yesterday was a good gimmick, damn it! It had worked for aeons, right back to when the people in the store were paying for things with rocks and beads.   
  
Jack the Ripper had found his victims in the London marketplace, Dracula had cornered Mina in the narrow aisles of an antique store and it was out of the dusty back room of a new-old amphorae shop that Hades had finally come for Persephone. In other words, the formula was fine.   
  
_Sarah_ was causing problems.   
  
Much like civil service workers, the Forces of Unalterable Destiny didn't get paid enough to get creative. But where civil service workers just get tetchy if they're forced to deviate from their standard pattern, the Forces had a few more options available to them.   
  
It probably would have been better for Sarah if she'd just gone in.   
  
Inside the store, It was also not happy. It had worked in the lucrative field of Innocent-Luring for the last three hundred years without a slip up. It was nearing retirement age and didn't need a blemish on Its record now. With a determined expression on Its face (when It had one) It slipped out of the shop, ignoring the now wasted ominous creaking of the door.  
  
Shifting shape according to the greatest desires of the people viewing It, It trotted, oozed, shimmied and bounced after Sarah. The peculiarly adapted nature of It meant that this constant process of metamorphosis wasn't visible to anyone but Itself. People saw only what they wanted to see, and so It appeared to be unchanging.   
  
Even so, you'd think that the sight of a ham sandwich/great Canadian moose/air conditioner making Its slow and steady way up the main aisle of the mall would have caused at least a few raised eyebrows, if not screaming, running, and the always popular mob hysteria.  
  
Magic.  
  
You've gotta love it.  
  
And inside the recently de-baited trap, from the deepest shadow of the shadow-luxuriant shop, from a corner wrapped in that darkness that is so void of light that it can be technically classified as a texture, Jareth watched.  
  
Jareth knew a great deal more than most people about the Forces of Unalterable Destiny. In general, he approved of them. The future was their business and they were damn good at making it happen, as evidenced by the fact that the earth continues to spin in nice round circles instead of deciding one day that hey, maybe it'd be nice to go around in squares for a while.   
  
That's all well and good, but people (most people) are not planets. Having that same kind of attention applied to an individual's life was, for that individual, the emotional equivalent of being rubbed from head to toe with metal shavings and then dropped into a hot tub filled with salt water.  
  
The Forces weren't at all interested in learning about the difference between planets (large, round, rocky) and people. (small, blob-shaped, squishy) Fate was Fate, and destiny was Destiny, and the Forces could be as petty as all get out about it.   
  
Their personalities can be best described as the concentrated essence of that friend everyone has and prefers not to talk about, the one who insists on setting her friends up on blind date after blind date because she _knows_ they're perfect for each other.   
  
There are some differences between your friend and the Forces, however. Your friend won't tie you and your date up, force feed you both sedatives and then drive you to Vegas. (Motto: "Come for the Beer Nuts, Stay for the Shotgun Weddings!")   
  
The Forces will if you're lucky.  
  
Jareth knew that the situation had just become a lot more complicated. Under his breath, he viciously muttered a curse in an ancient language. Every green plant in the mall withered into brown dust. The plastic plants spontaneously came to life, _then_ withered. The employees at the salad bar unanimously voted to close early.  
  
He always did have a way with words.  
  
______  
  
End Part Eight  
  
Tell me what you think?  
  
Ah, It. *snicker* Once again, what the heck was I thinking? I wish I'd kept a journal of my thoughts, even though I strongly suspect I wouldn't be able to make head or tails out of it now. Still, it'd be nice to look back and make fun of myself. I make fun of myself *now*, of course, but it's just not the same. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Title: Something Has to Give  
Author: AKA Jay  
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.  
Feedback: Would be appreciated. :)  
Summary: Wouldn't that involve some forethought on my part? 

**Notes**: I've replied to all the comments on the last part. My replies may make no sense, they may be seriously deficient in both grammar and spelling, the punctuation may resemble the speech patterns of a lunatic, but they're there. And I had a lot of fun doing them. *g*  
  
**Part Nine**  
  
Jareth leant against the wall and thought. Around him, hundreds of shoppers swarmed by. Jareth wasn't exactly _seen_ by the majority of people. It was the same thing that happens when you pass a roadside clown waving a large sign and looking miserable. People's eyes just tended to slide off, although in Jareth's case there was less latent guilt.  
  
This was probably some sort of survival instinct, considering that the last person who had bothered Jareth while he was thinking would now be a guaranteed loser in the little known party game: "Who's got intestines?"  
  
Jareth wasn't happy. Sarah's refusal to follow the natural rules of heroine-villain interaction had just made the entire situation a lot more complicated. He didn't know why he was surprised; from the very beginning, Sarah had gone out of her way to make things difficult. (It's worth noting that in the Lexicon of Jareth, the concept of 'difficult' is referenced in the 'things that happen to other people' section, only a few short paragraphs below 'not getting what I want'.)   
  
The more Jareth thought about the situation as it now existed, the worse it looked. Before Sarah had decided to make her little gesture of defiance he had been looking forward to playing a lengthy game of cat and mouse with the prospect made all the sweeter by the enthralling certainty of his eventual victory. Now, time was of the essence.  
  
The Immutable Forces of Fate aren't like people. If you irritate them, you don't get threatening phone calls. Large men named Vito don't start showing up on your doorstep at odd hours of the night. There is absolutely no chance that they will spread nasty rumors about you or decapitate your pet.  
  
You wish.  
  
The worst thing that you can do to most people is to give them a Destiny. The capital is there for a reason. Everyone has a small-d destiny. Even if they don't have a specific one when they're born, by the time they die they've invested a good few decades in creating one for themselves. Their destiny may not have been glamorous, it may not have changed the world, it may in fact have consisted entirely of moving small pieces of paper from one end of an office to another and back again, but it was there.  
  
Destiny with a capital-D is a completely different animal: a large, hungry animal that runs through the streets of history with a bounce in its step and a toothy grin on its face, dragging its owner behind it at the end of a very short leash. If you only took a casual look at someone out fulfilling his or her Destiny, you might think that the person was in control. But if you looked closer, you would notice a few things. Things like the blood on their knees and on their faces where their Destiny had dragged them face-first through gravel. Things like the look on their faces: half-proud, half-terrified.   
  
Things like the leash tied tight around their hands.  
  
You know that someone has a Destiny when they wake up in the middle of the night with staring eyes and the perfect certainty that most of Europe really needs their political guidance, even if Europe doesn't know it yet. You know it when coincidences start to pile up like a house of cards and the person takes it all in stride. Most of all, you know someone has a Destiny when they suddenly start to exude the type of unstoppable personal charisma that makes other people want to die for them or, far more dangerously, live for them.   
  
Of course, if you've been spending enough time with someone with a Destiny to notice all that, by then you'll be spending every Saturday night hosting fan club meetings in your basement.  
  
Sarah had had a destiny since the first day that she found the book. It was somewhat mutable until she had absorbed enough magic to make her a creature of the Underground. After that, it was set. But it didn't necessarily have to be dramatic. At least, no more dramatic than Jareth was planning to make it. Now... things had changed.  
  
It takes about a week to give someone a Destiny, sometimes longer if they've run out of the right kind of forms.   
  
Jareth had that long to get Sarah back to his kingdom to fulfill her destiny before it was too late. Destiny with a capital-D outranks destiny with a small-d any day of the week. He had one week, and if he failed he could look forward to potential eons of upheaval and change. And considering that she'd eventually have to come back to the Labyrinth, the entire chaotic mess would show up at his doorstep one day. Out of his control.  
  
The idea wasn't to be borne.  
  
Once Sarah's destiny had been fulfilled, it would be set: a block of concrete in the shifting sands of time. They couldn't touch her then.  
  
Turning his head in the direction that Sarah had gone, Jareth was just in time to catch a flash of It (currently in the guise of a pager with legs) as It ducked into the movie theater. Taking a step backwards, Jareth disappeared into the wall.  
  
*****  
  
It was a final proof of Sarah's complete lack of psychic ability that she was feeling absurdly smug when she walked into the lobby. Avoiding the obvious trap at the antique shop had made her feel much more hopeful about her chances of winning her latest bout with Jareth. If that was the best he could throw at her, she'd be fine. All she had to do was avoid old mansions, mysterious caves and brushing her hair in front of a mirror. Oh, and talking animals. If anything with fur spoke to her, she'd run like hell.  
  
Sarah spotted Lisa waiting in the line at the snack counter. Blatantly cutting in line, she tapped her friend on the shoulder.   
  
Lisa turned and smiled at her. "Hey! Here, I bought you a ticket," she said, handing the ticket to Sarah. "I thought you weren't going to show for a minute there."  
  
"And miss..." Sarah thought for a moment. "What are we going to see again?"  
  
Lisa laughed. "Like you forgot! We've only been talking about going to see it for the last two weeks!"  
  
"No, seriously-" Sarah said.  
  
"What would you like today?" The attendant broke in.  
  
Once Sarah and Lisa had gotten their popcorn, sodas and plastic butter packets, they made their way to the theater. Behind them, a garbage can that had been innocently immobile morphed into a Bloodhound and trotted after Sarah.  
  
In the theater, Sarah carefully selected a seat that was far enough from the back for her to be sure that Jareth couldn't appear without causing a panic in those people sitting behind her. Or if not a panic, at least a disturbance along the lines of "Hey! You with the hair! Yeah, you, the one who just appeared out of nowhere - sit down and shut up! Some of us are TRYING to watch the movie!"   
  
Once Lisa had stopped trying to convince Sarah to sit in the back row like they always did, the two girls settled into their seats to wait for the movie to start. Two rows behind them, a refrigerator attempted to look inconspicuous behind a copy of the schedule while watching Sarah intently.  
  
"So," Lisa said. "Wasn't it odd the way the power went out?"   
  
"What do you mean?" Sarah said defensively. "I talked to Mr. Morgan, and he said it was just mice in the wiring."  
  
Lisa rolled her eyes. "Mr. Morgan has been reading over the chapter on 'Duct Tape and the Rodent Kingdom' for the last three weeks. If a _meteor_ hit the school he'd blame it on mice."  
  
"Still, I don't see what was odd about it." Sarah said. She didn't know why this was making her so nervous. Lisa wasn't going to turn to her and laugh and say, "It's odd because it happened about the same time that that Goblin King started stalking you. Is that a wild coincidence or what?"   
  
Even so, Sarah was very relieved when the lights started to dim and the curtains slid apart.  
  
Until the title came up: A Midsummer's Night Dream, two solid hours of fairies, big hair and glitter.  
  
Later, it would take the usher half an hour longer than usual to clean the theater. He had to use a ladder.   
  
Use your imagination.  
  
___________  
  
There are times when I wonder why I didn't make this a normal fic then I remember that I was right in the middle of writing a dark Willow/Angelus fic. This story always cheered me up. Still does, really. I enjoy working on it. :-)  
  
I was also thinking about all the things I've seen that remind me of Labyrinth. There's been a lot of them, mainly because I actively seek them out. *g* A review I got for the last part of this made me seek out my copy of the Forbidden Games trilogy now there's a Labyrinthian set of books! I wrote a crossover fic between that and Labyrinth, you know. It was odd.  
  
For those who haven't read the books, find them. They're by LJ Smith, and it's as close to Labyrinth as you can get. Lovely hero- uh, villain. Julian, with white-silver hair, a voice like water over rocks and an unhealthy obsession with a sweet young girl. He makes her play a game, you know. A Forbidden Game. Uh-huh. Oh, just read them.   
  
Is it time to tell you guys that you're allowed to repeat yourselves in the comments section again yet? I figure if I expect you to repeat yourselves, the least I can do is do the same. *g* Seriously, thanks for the comments. I believe I've made it obvious that they give me unwholesome amounts of pleasure and invoke much chortling of the non-evil variety.  



	10. Chapter Ten

Title: Something Has to Give   
Author: Ash (I'm still lurking, I swear! In the closet, as it happens.)   
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.  
Feedback: Would be appreciated.  
Summary: Wouldn't that involve some forethought on my part?   
  
**Author's Note**: Man, I'm tired. Really, really tired. You wouldn't believe how tired I am. Read more about it in the afterword, because I really can't justify talking about it here. This note is more about saying how I've replied to my comments, which I have (yay!), and saying how much I enjoy talking to all of you guys, which I definitely do. :)   
  
You know, I don't think I could ever give up the rush of replying to people. Because that way, it's not just that I know that someone enjoys my story I know that people I *like* enjoy my story. That means a lot to me. Besides, some of you people are even stranger than I am. I like that, too. *g*  
  
**Part Ten**  
  
Sarah's eyes were fixed on the screen in horrified fascination; her nails were digging holes through the rough denim of her jeans. Her reaction was distinctly at odds with that of the rest of the moviegoers, who were laughing uproariously at the antics of Puck.   
  
Sarah bit back the urge to scream as Oberon, king of the fairies, appeared in a cloud of glitter. She had to get out of there.  
  
Glancing quickly to Lisa to make sure that her friend was distracted, Sarah decided to make a break for it. She rose from her seat and hurried away down the aisle. She slipped out the door quietly and walked out of the theatre.  
  
Seconds after she'd left, the door at the back of the theatre cracked open again. A radish rosette maker climbed over the discarded soda can It had wedged in the crack of the door. It hopped slowly after Sarah, Its tiny gears whirring with effort.  
  
Sheer instinct led Sarah down the corridors of the mall until she finally came to a familiar door. Pushing it open, she stepped inside and closed it firmly behind her. She leant back against the plastic door and let out a long breath. Raising her head, she looked around for the first time.   
  
Hand dryers.  
  
_Pink_ hand dryers.  
  
Sarah looked at the restroom with slightly more horror than was strictly warranted by the bright pink tiles, floor to ceiling mirrors and general air of sterile femininity.   
  
It isn't really fair to blame Sarah's instincts. After all, when her father had invited the boy Sarah liked to her twelfth birthday party and told him that Sarah liked him, Sarah had refused to come out of the bathroom for six hours. When Toby was born, they found Sarah in the public restroom off the hospital lounge making a fairy crown out of tissue paper.   
  
Instincts are almost exactly not like rubber bands; thus it was entirely natural that Sarah's instincts had not yet realized that public restrooms were now to be considered on a par with untamed jungles and pep club rallies: Don't go unless you have to but, if you have to, don't go alone and don't go unarmed.   
  
Even so, the fact remained that Sarah was now in a place that she didn't want to be. Not only had recent events made her more than a little bit afraid of public washrooms in general, but- she stole a glance at the innocent-seeming appliances- there were also the hand dryers.   
  
Once you've seen a pack of hand dryers circling a wounded soap-dispenser, closing in for the incredibly hygienic kill... Well, once you've seen that, you can never go back to the days of blithe ignorance. Or put your hand under one of them without worrying about it being bitten off.

Shaking her head, Sarah turned to leave the washroom to search for a hiding place less redolent of memories and lilac air freshener. She took hold of the door hand and tugged sharply. It didn't move.   
  
Darn it, she thought. I can never remember if these things are push or pull. She pushed hard against the dark wood. Still nothing. Now, she thought. Did I push the first time too, or -   
  
This might have gone on for a while, but fortunately:  
  
Wood? Sarah thought. In a _mall_?   
  
She jerked her hands away from the heavy wooden door as if it had burned her.   
  
"Sarah." His voice came from behind her.  
  
*****  
  
A small terrier through the pathways of the mall, Its sensitive nose easily picking up Sarah's trail. Thudding down the corridor, It came to an abrupt halt outside the ladies room door. Here, isolated from the pressing desires of mortals, It returned to Its true form.   
  
Stretching with relief, It tried to open the door. Locked?! Squeaks of rage rattled down the empty corridor as It began scrabbling at the door, claws scratching long white welts into the darker wood.  
  
*****  
  
Sarah couldn't make herself turn around. She just couldn't. If she turned around, she'd have to admit that he was there.  
  
"Why are you still bothering me?" Sarah said to the door. "I told you, I don't want to play anymore games with you. I just want to be left alone. Please."   
  
Jareth's hands closed on her shoulders.  
  
Sarah's heart leapt and fell at the same time, meeting itself on the way up. He didn't touch her, he wasn't supposed to touch her, was he? That wasn't in the rules, that wasn't part of the game. She could feel leather warm and soft against her neck and it was suddenly much harder not to turn and look at him.  
  
"This isn't a game, Sarah." Jareth said into her ear, his tone low and angry.   
  
Sarah's eyes flew open - (when had they drifted shut?) - and she shrugged away his hands. Her own hands already clenched into fists at her sides, she turned to face Jareth.  
  
He was much closer than she'd thought he'd be, his black cloak a dark wall cutting her off from the rest of the room. And yes, he was beautiful. And yes, he was terrible. But he was also trying to claim the moral high ground and damn it, Sarah wasn't going to put up with that.  
  
"Oh, no!" Sarah said, meeting his eyes. "I never said it was a game. _I_ said, 'Why are you here?' _You_ said it was a game!" She thought for a moment, trying to reconstruct their earlier meeting in her mind. "Okay, so you only implied it, but it was pretty clear at the time!"  
  
Jareth's face was a frightening thing. No smile, not a kind one, not a cruel one, not even that one that said that he knew something you didn't know and oh boy, if only you knew. No smile at all, but his eyes like windows into the heart of the sun.  
  
"It _was_ a game." Jareth said, his tone dismissing the distinction. "But we have no more time for games, Sarah. You must wish yourself back to the Labyrinth _now_."   
  
He was half-leaning towards Sarah, towering over her, those burning eyes focused on her face.  
  
Sarah swallowed and dropped her eyes.   
  
"Stop it!" she said, "You're just trying to trick me!"   
  
This encounter would later provide the inspiration for the creation of a popular children's story in the Underground. Called "The King Who Gave Peaches", it taught young faeries and goblins a useful life lesson. Namely: "If you go around playing mind games, don't expect people to believe you when you show up again with fruit and tell them that this time you just want them to eat it for the vitamins."   
  
The story survived Jareth's displeasure, which is more than you can say for the author.  
  
"I'm not, Sarah," Jareth said. "I swear it." He reached out towards her and Sarah jumped back, banging her head painfully on the door. His hand dropped.  
  
Sarah stared at him and thought that maybe that was what he wanted her to do because he was smiling again, just a twist of the lips but still smiling. Jareth smiling was just as disturbing as Jareth not smiling, she decided.   
  
And those eyes  
  
"Listen to me carefully," Jareth said. "You have done something _very_ foolish, Sarah. It may cost you your life."   
  
This was almost a lie, but not quite. Destiny wouldn't take away her life in the literal sense, at least not immediately, but it almost certainly would in the "When was the last time we went out to dinner?" context.   
  
When you have a Destiny you can still go to dinner parties, but the odds are good that the host of the party will be murdered, attractive people of both sexes will follow you around flirting madly and/or poisoning your drink, and you'll emerge at the end of the meeting heroically victorious, the darling of millions, and without having had more than one small crab puff and a few sips of suspicious tasting wine.   
  
After a while, people with Destinies just eat at home; at least then, all you have to worry about is the ninjas.  
  
"But-" Sarah said, intending to point out that the only thing she'd done since she got back from the Labyrinth was go to school and avoid _him_, not necessarily in that order.  
  
Jareth cut her off. "I'll save you, Sarah. But only if you come with me ** _now_**!" His tone was the same one used by dog trainers and home shopping networks, the one that goes straight to the choke chain of the mind and yanks hard.  
  
The burning eyes and the commanding tone met somewhere in the back of Sarah's brain and momentarily short-circuited it.   
  
"I wish" Sarah said haltingly, staring into Jareth's eyes. His eyes were beautiful, she thought. "that the goblins" Beautiful eyes, she thought again. But were they smiling like that a second ago?   
  
She looked at Jareth and saw that his grim expression had turned into a wolfish smile. It was a visual splash of cold water. Sarah's eyes snapped back into focus and she ducked under his arm and moved away from him, deeper into the bathroom.   
  
She noted the ongoing transfiguration of her surrounding with dismay. As disturbing as watching bits of her reality being invaded by magic normally was, the soft pink mood lighting overhead was adding an especially horrible note of grotesque cheerfulness to the proceedings. It was like learning about a death in the family via singing telegram.   
  
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on!" Sarah said firmly, backing away from him. "And probably not then, either!"  
  
Jareth had already turned to face her; she hadn't even seen him move. His cloak was stirring as if moved by a sudden breeze, whipping and snapping around his body like a panther's tail.   
  
"There isn't _time_." Jareth said, biting off each word. "They could be being efficient today - we need to leave now, Sarah!"  
  
"No! I'm not going!" Sarah said, taking another step away from Jareth. There was a soft squelching sound.   
  
Sarah looked down and saw that there was water welling from between two of the shell-pink floor tiles. The water was spreading into a pool that was clear as glass; two of the hand dryers were lapping at it eagerly. Bemused, Sarah tried to figure out exactly how they were drinking.   
  
She put a hand to the wall to support and lifted her foot out of the water, putting it down again in a dry area.   
  
Squish. Water was swirling in by her other foot now. Miniature springs were appearing all over the floor.  
  
A sudden icy shock sent Sarah jumping away from the wall. Her hand was wet. From the center of the room she stared at the waterfalls springing into life at every tile junction, sending forth sheets of liquid that blurred the walls.   
  
"Would you like to reconsider your decision?" Jareth said.   
  
Sarah glared at him, noticing with intense irritation that the already ankle-deep pool of water on the floor was _curving_ to avoid him, growing liquid walls constantly changing shape to avoid his flowing cape.

"No." Sarah said, her bravado only slightly marred by the shiver that fractured her voice as the water rose past the tops of her boots, soaking the cuffs of her jeans and sinking happily down into her socks.   
  
"If you're sure" Jareth said with an arched eyebrow.  
  
Sarah nodded quickly, before the frozen feeling in her feet got to her brain. The rush of the waterfalls sounded like music. A funeral march, she thought. Burial at sea.  
  
"I'll leave you alone, then." Jareth said, laughter in his voice and in his eyes. "As you asked."  
  
He turned and walked into the full-length mirror, passing through it like an open door. The mirror fogged over for a second, and when it cleared the only image reflected was Sarah, glaring at her own reflection. And the water, slowly rising around her.  
  
"If you are lonely, Sarah," The water-music said in Jareth's voice. "You have only to ask and I will come and keep you company."   
  
But no pressure.   
  
Really.  
  
_______  
  
End Part Ten  
  
It's fascinating that so many of you have heard about the Forbidden Game series. That makes me very happy. It's such a good series. Almost makes up for Jareth spending so much time at his castle and so little time with Sarah. *g*  
  
Ah yes, on to the rambling. All right, you guys want to know what I did today? I moved a two hundred pound bar up a flight of stairs. Yep. Just me. All by my lonesome. It was six feet long and very wide and awkward and I have cuts on my legs and arms and I'm pretty sure there's going to be a huge bar shaped bruise on my back and there's a long pole I used as an impromptu lever that is *never* going to be the same. I feel happy and sore and generally pleased with myself.   
  
(There was no reason for this. I had people lined up to come and help me. But I got tired of squeezing past it and so I looked at it, and it looked at me, and I said, "All right, Moby Dick. Your time has come." I tell you, I feel like I've *bonded* with this bar. I want to go out and shoot golf with it and tell stories to it and comfort it when it's sad. If I move a few more pieces of furniture like this one I could be over my intimacy issues in no time. )  
  
But enough about me and my compulsion to treat stupid things as challenges and challenges as double-dog-dares I hope you guys are still enjoying the story. Did any of you suspect that hand dryers would play such a large role in the story? I know I put it in the summary, but really who could have guessed? *g*   
  



	11. Chapter Eleven

Title: Something Has to Give  
Author: Ash   
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.  
Feedback: Would be appreciated. 

Note: To all those who aren't familiar with the way this merry merry-go-round works, if you've ever replied to me, there's a reply _from_ me in the reviews section. If you asked me questions, I probably didn't give you any answer that made sense. If you complimented me, I no doubt took the lunacy up a notch. If you made me laugh, you may get no intelligible answer at all besides snickers. Yeah, that pretty much covers it. *g*  
  
**Part Eleven**  
  
In the universal sense, the Earth was orbiting happily around the sun. On the global scene, life was proceeding as normal for the residents of the aforementioned planet. Taking a slightly more precise view of events, the customers in a particular mall were going about their business.   
  
In the ridiculously specific context of Sarah's perspective, a nauseatingly pink bathroom was rapidly filling up with water.  
  
At the moment, that was all that Sarah cared about. A dissertation on the relative insignificance of personal problems is likely to earn the disserter a punch in the nose when ice water is up to the audience's waist and rising.  
  
Sarah waded back over to the door and pulled hard on the handle. Not surprisingly, it didn't budge. It takes away from the essential point of a death trap if escape routes are left open.   
  
It may surprise some people that Jareth would be that practical; after all, this is a man who imprisoned a temperamental teenage girl in a crystal bubble without bothering to bolt down the furniture first. Given his track record, one might reasonably expect Jareth's twist on the classic death trap to involve silk ropes, feathers, and that ticklish place on the side of Sarah's neck.   
  
That would be a mistake. It's true that Jareth has a whimsical side, but he also has the full set of Supernatural Fiend merit badges and you can't get those without knowing the basics.   
  
Sarah didn't even notice the faint scratching sound coming from outside the door; she was too busy panicking. She sloshed back to the center of the room to look for another way out, resembling nothing so much as a velvet-clad hippo. (Between this and the Walk of Ostentatious Conformity, Sarah's chances for winning the coveted Pretentious Walking award were taking a severe hit.)  
  
Something brushed by her feet and Sarah jumped backwards to avoid it. She made a small furious noise in her throat that sounded like "nrk!" and quickly made her way over to the counter, clambering up onto it with little grace and much speed. The water was only a few inches below the edge of the counter now, and rising.  
  
Shivering in her wet clothes, Sarah peered down into the water. It definitely gave the impression of icy depths, although with more of the former than the latter. Part of the impression of depth could be attributed to the shadows that were barely visible as they glided effortlessly through the water. Occasionally one would break the surface, its pink and chrome body shedding glittering drops of water, and then submerge again.   
  
As Sarah watched, one of the aquatic hand dryers began to re-enact a disturbingly familiar scene:  
  
A helpless bar of soap floated innocently on the water, presumably unaware of the pink shadow slowly rising from the water beneath it. The shadow circled the bar, moving in wide circles at first, then narrowing, narrowing Music could be faintly heard in the air. At first, Sarah thought it was just the mall music system. Then she recognised the tune: dum Dum dum Dum dum Dum  
  
Sarah closed her eyes. The crescendo started to build and she focused intently on the sound of the music, because if she was listening to the music that meant that she _wasn't_ listening to the soft wet noises. She was particularly not listening to the noise that sounded like - but surely couldn't have been - a high pitched squeaking.   
  
And then there was silence, and Sarah opened her eyes. There was a faint soapy film on the water. She swallowed hard.  
  
"Jareth?" Sarah said, the question as close to conciliatory as it could get without losing the intrinsically furious quality. She stood up on the counter, leaning back against the mirror for balance. "Jareth!" She hissed again.  
  
Keeping your back to a hard surface is no match for the _need_ villains feel to sneak up behind the helpless heroine. Actually, heroes do this too. It's a guy thing.  
  
"You called?" Jareth said from behind the mirror.   
  
Sarah almost fell off the counter, but saved herself at the last moment by grabbing onto the roll of brown paper towels. She hung on to it for dear life as she struggled to get her balance, praying that it wouldn't bite her or lick her or talk to her. As it happened, it didn't. This could be because Sarah was lucky enough to grab the one normal bathroom accessory. It could also be because brown paper towel rolls are nocturnal.  
  
Either way, Sarah was able to use the roll as a handhold as she carefully turned around to face the mirror and got herself upright again. When she looked into the mirror, or through it, Jareth was watching her. Sarah had known he would be, but she still felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.   
  
Jareth's attention wasn't something you could get used to. It was like presenting at school and performing in a play and noticing the guy you watched watching you in the hallways all rolled into one. With a little extra kick added because Sarah knew that Jareth had so much power, enough power to do anything he wanted, go anywhere he wanted, and what he was doing was standing there watching her.   
  
Watching her with a gleam in his eyes and a twisted half-smile that made her feel like he knew what she was thinking and that it amused him.  
  
Sarah looked away from his eyes and noticed for the first time that the scene reflected in the mirror not only had a noticeable lack of *her* but was also missing about sixty gallons of water. It looked enticingly warm and dry.   
  
"You've decided to come with me." Jareth said, leaning against the nothing where the mirror should be, about twelve inches and one spatial logistics headache away.   
  
Doing her best to ignore the water spilling onto the counter, Sarah looked at Jareth. "I have _not_." She said firmly.  
  
"No?"   
  
"No!"   
  
"You called me, Sarah." Jareth said. She hated the way he said her name.   
  
Sarah considered that for a moment. She couldn't possibly admit that she'd been frightened, she thought. Not to him. "I" she started, and then trailed off. What could she say? I - what?  
  
I was bored, Sarah thought.  
  
I was talking to the _other_ Jareth, she thought.  
  
I want you to open the door now. Please.  
  
I want to tell you about an exciting promotional offer from the good people at Amway!  
  
Damn it, Sarah thought.  
  
"I'll remain and talk with you, if that is what you wish." Jareth said quietly.  
  
Sarah couldn't look at him. She stared down at the film of water gently lapping at her shoes and said, "Yes."  
  
"All right," Jareth said, and Sarah looked up quickly to see if there was a smile on his face as well as in his voice. There was, although it didn't look like the same one. The smile in his voice was almost wistful. The smile on his face wasnot.  
  
"Would you like to come in here to talk, Sarah?" Jareth continued, and this time the smile in his voice matched the smile on his face. "It would be more comfortable." He extended a hand towards her through the mirror. The fact that he did that while still _leaning against_ the mirror made Sarah very nervous.  
  
Sarah eyed Jareth's offered hand with mistrust, hanging on tightly to the paper roll in case he tried to grab her. "I have to say the exact words to go back to the Labyrinth, don't I?" She asked. "I can't get there just by stepping through the mirror?"  
  
"Of course you can't." Jareth said. Actually, pretty much anything is approved by the rules of magic, but Jareth gets final veto power and he flatly refuses to come for people who say things like "I, um, would really find it awesome if the goblins grabbed ya." The intent is the important thing, but Jareth also judges on poise. Sarah got bonus points for calling on a dark and stormy night.  
  
In this case, Jareth was telling at least part of the truth. Sarah wouldn't be taken to the Labyrinth if she entered the mirror. Of course, she wouldn't be able to get back to her own dimension either. But she didn't ask about that.  
  
Reluctant as she was to accept Jareth's word, Sarah couldn't help but notice that the water was up to her ankles again and still rising. Frowning, she considered her options. Briefly she thought about attempting to balance on the top of the wall between the stalls but dismissed it as both humiliating and pointless.  
  
The rasp of claws against wood came faintly above the rush of water and the metallic clang as the hand dryers drifted against the walls. Oh god, Sarah thought, please let that be someone trying to open the door.  
  
The surreptitious gesture Jareth made with his hand probably had nothing to do with her hesitation. Likewise, his hand gesture was probably completely unrelated to the fact that the water pouring out of the walls suddenly doubled its speed, the silver curtains becoming frothing fountains that hit the surface of the water with violent splashes.  
  
Paranoia not caring about probabilities, Sarah glared at Jareth.   
  
His expression was serene with only a hint of triumph evident in the slight curl of his lip and the silver sparkle in his eyes. His hand was motionless, the black glove turned upwards in invitation.  
  
Considering that the water was now up to her knees and still rising, Sarah was beginning to feel a distinct lack of options. There was a chrome shadow swimming purposefully towards her under the water. Outside, the sun was setting.   
  
The paper towel roll squirmed under her hands and Sarah abruptly made up her mind. Praying that Jareth was telling the truth, she reached for his hand.  
  
There was a loud crash as It broke through the door.   
  
Sarah's hand fell to her side as she whipped her head around to stare at the gaping hole that was all that remained of the door. For a moment she caught a fleeting glimpse of what looked like... fur? before her greatest desire kicked in and a Scuba Suit lay on the floor. The water swirled around the black suit as it rushed out the door, making a break for freedom.   
  
The magical liquid made it only as far as the nearest storm drain before it joined some of the native liquids. Over time, the two waters mingled and lost all sense of cultural identity as their molecules intermarried. Some of the elder magic molecules made a valiant attempt to begin an oral tradition of Underground rituals, but gave up after someone pointed out that water doesn't know how to talk.  
  
In a matter of seconds the water was gone, leaving hand dryers littering the floor like beached whales. Jareth was staring at the Scuba Suit. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Sarah jumped off the counter and ran towards the door.   
  
It perked up as much as a Scuba Suit could perk, latex arms extending towards Sarah as she came, satisfaction at a heroine well-Lured already beginning to soak through It.  
  
Its satisfaction was short lived as Sarah jumped right over it, darted through the door and scampered away down the corridor. Left alone with Jareth, It metamorphosed back to Its true form. Violet eyes met the angry gleaming ones of the Goblin King as the two opponents measured each other.  
  
Now, this is the point when a rational person might have suggested something along the lines of, "Hey! It wants to Lure Sarah somewhere and Jareth wants to get her back to the Underground. One might even say that he wants to 'lure' her back. Could there be a connection somewhere in there?"   
  
But no. There's an ancient saying that goes something like this: you can't have two supernatural creatures in pursuit of the same heroine and expect them to share. That's not exactly how it goes, but that's the gist of it.  
  
The staring contest between Jareth and It continued as their mutual prey pounded away through the mall.  
  
Both It and Jareth were placed at the intersection between power and beauty, desire and fear. Very few things are located exactly at that intersection. That is to say, either you find them desirable but you still run away, or you find them frightening but you still stay.   
  
With creatures that are located at the _exact_ point of intersection, the effect is less clear cut. Your hand is reaching out to touch them while your feet are running in the opposite direction. Your arm is around their waist but your teeth are trying to gnaw through your own shoulder to get away.   
  
For a human, surviving an encounter with one of those creatures takes great skill, great presence of mind and luck. Lots and lots of luck.  
  
Nobody knows what it takes for a human to survive an encounter with two of them. It's never come up before. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Humans (Except If It's Amusing) would never have allowed it. However, the SPCH(EIIA) has no jurisdiction over Jareth or It. Therefore, they've decided to ignore the situation and hope that it goes away, which for some reason is a strategy that involves a lot of interoffice betting. They're not giving Sarah very good odds.  
  
Now forget all that. Forget what it takes to survive an encounter with one of them, forget that nobody knows what it takes to survive an encounter with two of them and forget the SPCH(EIIA) if you can. Because Sarah hasn't just bumped into these creatures briefly in the small late-night convenience store of Ships Passing in the Night, she's managed to get herself trapped with both of them in the large scary temple of Obsession. The doors are welded shut, there's a thunderstorm raging outside and there is little to no chance that this is all going to end with a cheery, "Thank you, come again!" and a quick drive home with her microwaveable popcorn and large bottle of soda.   
  
Forget that the SPCH(EIIA) isn't giving Sarah good odds too, because this situation is so unique that it would make any real bookmaker resort to strong drink and the strategic use of a dartboard. Nobody has any idea what's going to happen, least of all Sarah.   
  
If Sarah survives, she may or may not receive a small commemorative plate.   
  
________  
  
Heh. There are times when I wonder why I do things like this to my favourite characters. I really do like Sarah, you know. I wouldn't have done nearly so well in the Labyrinth. I would have been hysterical with laughter about halfway through or stuck up on the starting hill trying sketch after sketch to try and get the maze itself down on paper.  
  
And yet, as I've said before, here we are. Torturing her. I just started re-posting one of my old Willow/Angelus fics too, and re-editing it has just reminded me of how this isn't just an isolated incident. Nope, I appear to really enjoy torturing the characters I like. I don't know why. Sure, I may make jokes in the fics, but they're not really doing the *characters* much good, now are they?  
  
On the plus side, you can't say I don't have good taste in (hero/villain)s. (Hellains? Viro's?) Jareth is seductive and threatening in the best of ways, even if he's not all that touchy-feely, and Angelus is seductive and very touch-feely-bitey, even if he doesn't have all the nifty powers and great cheekbones. Between the two of them, I feel fulfilled.   
  
Of course, then there's the rest of my viros. Julian, the kissy face boy with the creature of darkness vibe. Jack of All Trades, the throaty-voiced serial killer with the rose obsession and penchant for bloody love notes. Howlyn, who growls and purrs and basically acts like a big sexy lion-cat-man with gorgeous dark hair. Spike, with the accent and the cheekbones and the way he was evil and funny all at once.  
  
And so many others, but those are probably my main ones. *sigh* No wonder I have so many unfinished fics, eh?   
  
On a completely unrelated topic, which I'm sure shocks and surprises you, I hope that you're all still enjoying this long strange ride right along with me. Let me know, as always, much appreciated.  
  
I know that many of you may have voyaged off into the great unknown for the holidays, so I'll keep an eye out to see how many of my regulars are still around. *g* (Heh, I have regulars. I'm like a bar! Speaking of bars, I have this great story Oh, wait. I told you that one already.)  
  
AKA Jay

  



	12. Chapter Twelve

Title: Something Has to Give  
Author: Ash   
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Jim Henson Productions. For the most part, this is a good thing.  
Feedback: Would be appreciated.   
  
Author's Note: I've responded to all my replies again, except for the latest one that slipped by me. I'll do that tomorrow, but for now: Hi, Your Worshipfulness! I like Gilmore Girls very much, as it happens. I miss Tristan. There's just something about smirking that gets to me. *g*   
  
**Part Twelve **  
  
Sarah hurtled through the crowded mall thoroughfare with her eyes focused on the middle distance, leaving a trail of wet footprints and surprised shoppers behind her as she went.   
  
Although Sarah's exercise regime normally consisted entirely of rhythmic lip pouting, for this one shining moment she was a perfect running machine, a stretched out whippet-thing running on pure adrenaline. Thoughts were converted to fear were converted to energy that became speed without necessarily involving anything as cumbersome and physical as muscles or sinews. Sarah's physical body was so little importance to the proceedings that, if Sarah's legs had suddenly encountered an immovable obstacle, it would have been several minutes and about half a mile before she noticed that part of her was missing and even then it probably wouldn't have stopped her for long.  
  
For once, Sarah was doing the absolutely right thing; running away was definitely the most productive thing she could be doing with her time. This was an indisputably positive step forward in Sarah's decision-making process, which is why it's such a shame that she's completely failed to notice that the mall is laid out on a circular floor plan.  
  
For their part, the mall shoppers couldn't quite understand why the small blurred girl kept running at them and up behind them but they were able to adjust quickly and were soon going about their business again with only the occasional hunted glance behind them.   
  
The clerks, more enterprising than their customers and also very bored, chose to see Sarah as an opportunity to declare a kind of impromptu theme day. Thus, Howard's Shoe Emporium was soon doing a brisk business in discounted running shoes, while the Travel Center had a badly lettered sign up in their window within ten minutes that read, "Hawaii: For When You Just Have to Get Away"  
  
Sarah was unaware of all of it, from the sudden boom in racing turtle sales to the fact that the music store was now playing _And I ru-u-n, I run so far a-wa-y-ay_ over the store speakers for the third time. The outside world was just a hazy backdrop to the argument going on in her mind.   
  
A written version of that argument will be presented here for the benefit of non-telepathic readers. For those readers that are telepathic I will also be presenting a brief mental monologue on the food chain of bathroom appliances, with particular emphasis on how much it resembles a mobius strip when drawn out on a piece of bristle board. Take notes, there may be a test later.   
  
As she ran, Sarah's thoughts can be summed up in one word: Run. And written out like so: Run. Run. Run. Run. Sale! No, run. Run. Runrunrunrunrunrunrun.   
  
Sarah speeded up as she passed the corridor leading back to the washroom for the third time, dodging through the narrow gaps between customers. The crowd thickened around her and she was almost forced to stop, but at the last moment she executed a marvelous jump over a floor display of badly painted commemorative plates and was suddenly back in the clear.   
  
Behind her, the plate vendor sighed deeply and fingered the insurance policy in his pocket. As Sarah ran on, he was already rearranging the plates to cover a wider floor area, occasionally looking down the mall corridor with a gleam in his eye.  
  
It was around then that a rational voice spoke up in the back of Sarah's mind. "What am I doing?" The rational voice asked.   
  
Irritated, another voice replied, "You're running. Don't stop now!"   
  
"Jareth can find me _anywhere_, though." The rational voice pointed out, a little confused. "Where am I running to?"  
  
"Away!" The other voice invested the word with a host of meanings, starting with 'You idiot.' and working its way down to 'How you got into this brain in the first place...' It was a pretty neat trick of inflection considering that there were no actual sounds involved.  
  
The rational voice remained resolute. "Sorry, that's not good enough."  
  
The other voice paused for thought. Unfortunately for an elderly woman crossing from one store to another, Sarah didn't. Sarah picked herself up off the floor and continued to run, leaving the muttering crowd behind.   
  
"Well..." The other voice finally said. "We don't really know that Jareth can show up anywhere. So far, he's only shown up in public washrooms. So, we're running away from the washroom!"   
  
The rational voice was alarmed. "That's just a coincidence... Isn't it?"  
  
The other voice shrugged as much as a disembodied mental voice representing a part of a person's consciousness can. "Why take the chance?"  
  
There was a mental silence as the rational voice considered that logic, such as it was. Finally, it reached a decision. "If that's true... then we're away from the bathroom now. Can we stop running?"  
  
Carefully looking for flaws, the other voice thought it over. At about the same time as Sarah knocked a potted plant into the mall fountain it finally said, "Yes."  
  
Sarah stumbled to a halt by a large ornamental palm and leant against it, gasping for breath. She looked around at the familiar stores, surprised to notice that she wasn't that far from the movie theater. She thought she'd been running for a long time.   
  
Stubborn, beautiful and persistent, yes. Nobody ever called Sarah quick.  
  
_And I ru-u-n, I run all night and da-ay-ay..._  
  
*****  
  
While their mutual prey was wreaking havoc on the general populace, Jareth and It were engaged in the traditional and ritualistic form of settling differences between mystical kings and empathic Lurers.   
  
One of the more interesting parts of belonging to a vast immortal society is that there are formal and legalized traditions for everything, from the correct way to do battle with a many-eyed horror from the Shadow World to the right fork to use for salad when there's an even number of guests, a hexagonal table and a wind blowing from the southwest. (Forced to choose between the two examples listed above, most people would pick the many-eyed horror from the Shadow World: the rulebook is much shorter, and also colorfully illustrated.)   
  
Given that vast history of tradition, given Jareth's years of study and Its proud heritage, both of them knew exactly what to do in this situation.  
  
It stared at Jareth.  
  
Jareth stared at It.  
  
Any passing resemblance to a staring contest can be immediately dismissed. Staring contests vary in intensity from _Oh God, I'm bored_, to the relatively frenzied _MAN, I'm **bored**!_  
  
Neither It nor Jareth looked bored. Both looked relaxed, certainly, but it was the type of relaxation that suggested the potentiality of tension, a type of relaxation common to panthers, assassins and anyone else who knows that death leases a small furnished house in their neighborhood just to cut down on his daily commute.   
  
"What are You _doing_?" Jareth finally said after the requisite time had passed. His voice was a low hiss of menace.  
  
It did not actually have the ability to speak out loud, given that It was the embodiment of every dream on earth, temptation made... um, Something. Also, it had been determined that if the Lurer starts getting chatty with the person being Lured it can really freak that person out.   
  
This particular fact had been discovered by one of Its distant ancestors. Its ancestor had been in the middle of an extremely important Luring, disguised as a kind of beast that resembled a Shetland pony with scales.   
  
Finally, after twelve straight hours of shaking Its tentacles playfully and pawing the ground with Its hoof, Its ancestor had grown frustrated with the lack of progress and snarled words to the effect of, "Look, you bastard, I'm your damned pet, okay? Get over here!"   
  
Needless to say, the Innocent being Lured was startled. In fact, he was _so_ startled that it took several centuries of bloody war with the parties responsible before he fully regained his equilibrium.   
  
After that, Its species had started to experiment with subtler ways to communicate, finally developing a form of exceedingly precise body language. A raised eyebrow could signify either: "I will crush you like a bug", "Yes, this _is_ excellent pudding." or "What is that cow doing in here?"  
  
All of this goes to explain why, when It shifted slightly in response to Jareth's question, It managed to convey exactly what It meant.  
  
Jareth stared down at it with narrowed eyes. "Your job was finished when she walked away from the shop!" He said. "She was about to agree to come with me when You came barging in here."  
  
Its fur fluttered slightly as if touched by a breeze, Its eyes fixed on Jareth's face.  
  
Jareth nodded grudgingly and said,"That's a good point. But in this case, You must step aside. Sarah is _mine_ now, and I can allow no one to interfere."  
  
It tapped Its foot meaningfully.  
  
"You know that I could annihilate You," Jareth said after a moment, his voice calm and deadly. "And I will, if You persist in interfering with my game."  
  
It raised one hand, fingers moving almost undetectably in a somehow threatening manner.   
  
Jareth smiled without humor. "It is of no interest to me who You are or who You know. My only concern is for the game, as You well know."  
  
One of Its ears twitched.  
  
"Oh." Jareth said, his smile falling away.   
  
Obviously, Jareth couldn't back down. He just wasn't built for it. For anyone to even consider the possibility of Jareth backing down would be equivalent to only pulling the tail of a tiger, but also doing a little dance around it while making obscene hand gestures and commenting loudly on its resemblance to a particular stuffed toy. The only way Jareth would ever run up a white flag would be if someone in the castle laundry used way too much bleach on the black one.  
  
Therefore, his sudden change in attitude was not surrender. It was strategic retreat.  
  
"In that case," Jareth said. "I will accept Your terms. Let it begin."  
  
It seems appropriate at this point to take a moment to explain Jareth's knowledge of the strange and subtle language practiced by Its people. Jareth didn't usually bother to learn the languages practiced by other species, preferring to use the universal language of power as a sort of cosmic Esperanto, but he'd learned this one in his youth because of Her.   
  
Jareth had thought that She was the most beautiful Thing he'd ever seen, and of course She had been. That was Her nature, and when he'd met Her Jareth wasn't yet powerful enough to be immune. Despite his youth, despite the warnings of friends and relatives and strangers on the street, he had courted Her assiduously and spent long hours in the castle library learning Her language in order to understand what his love was saying to him.   
  
It turned out to be, "Leave me alone! Help! Guards!"   
  
Despite the heartbreaking consequences, Jareth's early learning was standing him in good stead now. That childhood misfortune had made it possible for Jareth and It to share a deep and complete understanding of their mutual enmity.  
  
It lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"*What* cow?" Jareth asked suspiciously.  
  
Of course, there may still be a few kinks to work out.  
  
____________  
Tell me what you think?  
  
Hah, we're getting near the new parts. I have chills. Seriously, look! Chills! And yes, it is snowing outside and yes, I did just come inside and yes, there are in fact still large pieces of ice attached to the cuffs of my pants. Still, chills! *g*  
  
Just a few short notes today because I'm sleepy and groggy and even more deranged then I usually am, partially due to my new collection of horror movie dvd's. I tell ya, you think you know what Pinhead's voice sounds like and Hannibal Lector's chuckle and Jack's throaty laugh and Jareth's song and then you plug in a few little cables and sit down in the right place and it's like they're crawling around inside your _head_.   
  
My head, in this case, and it's already crowded enough in here. No vacancies, killers of the world! Go to the Comfort Inn down the street, they have HBO and hot tubs. ;-)  
  
Story-wise, I hope everyone is still having fun. I am. It's probably not healthy for me to enjoy this as much as I do, but I can't seem to help it. I'm a reading, writing, drawing, replying, horror movie watching fool and I like it that way. Therapy? For other people. Answering the phone? A waste of time. Disposing of some of the books that cover every flat surface in my home? Blasphemy! *g*  
  
AKA Jay  
~ Voted most likely to be discovered dead under a big bile of books.  
~ Rather proud of it. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Part Thirteen **

While Jareth and It were making a devil's bargain, Sarah was sitting on a mall bench and trying to catch her breath. She occasionally poked distrustfully at the wood underneath her, waiting for it to dissolve or grow legs or worse. It remained stubbornly solid.  
  
Not that that meant anything, Sarah thought. She remembered how real the room in the junkyard had seemed before she opened the door. This could all be an illusion. She didn't care it was, really, just so long as it stayed normal for long enough for her to figure out what was going on.  
  
Sarah's mental processes, not all that stable at the best of times, had taken a severe beating. She was still trying to come to terms with being rescued from Jareth by a... by a... what _was_ That!   
  
Sarah frowned. And why was she thinking about It in capital letters? Stop that!  
  
Her subconscious, which was considerably more afraid of It than of Sarah, ignored her. The worst that Sarah could do was clamp down on its heavy use of Freudian imagery, while the worst that It could do- well, her subconscious wasn't totally clear on what It could do, but somewhere in the depths of it a tiny voice was saying: Tread cautiously! In fact, don't tread at all! _Stand perfectly still_!   
  
At least, that's what the subconscious _thought_ the voice was saying. It was a little garbled, what with the screaming and all. There also seemed to be a noise like a thousand chipmunks trying to climb a blackboard.  
  
Sarah shuddered without knowing why.   
  
"Sarah!" The voice that called her name was both feminine and familiar, which was the only reason why Sarah wasn't already 50 feet away and accelerating. Still, the muscles in Sarah's legs didn't completely relax until she lifted her head and saw Lisa bearing down on her like a freight train with ringlets.  
  
"Hi, Lisa." Sarah said, attempting to project a degree of nonchalance that would have been more convincing if she hadn't last been seen running in terror from images of Robin Williams.   
  
"What in God's name is going on with you, Sarah?" Lisa asked with frustration, but her expression softened as she noted Sarah's soaked clothes and haunted eyes. "Are you all right?"  
  
Sarah thought about telling Lisa exactly how far from 'all right' she really was. She thought about telling her all about how a magical entity was determined to drag her back to a place she never wanted to see again. She thought about telling her how he'd nearly drowned her in a mall bathroom until Something broke down the door.   
  
Then she thought about having to spend the rest of her life in a room with padded walls.   
  
The part of Sarah's brain that still hadn't quite caught up with recent events thought this was a very good idea. No public washrooms, it thought. I'd be safe! However, its optimism was firmly squelched by the rest of Sarah's mind, which was unwilling to wager the rest of their life on Jareth's possible preoccupation with hygiene.  
  
"I'm fine." Sarah said at last, avoiding Lisa's eyes. She plucked nervously at the hem of her shirt.   
  
Lisa's shirt, never one to pass up an advantage, was busy poking merciless fun at the soaked condition of the velvet.  
  
"Why are you _wet_?" Lisa said.   
  
Something about the set of the velvet's collar suggested that the blouse was treading on thin ice. It managed to make it clear that if the blouse ever got wet, the pieces would have to be re-assembled by _tweezers_. Shoddy workmanship like that can't hold together under any kind of pressure.  
  
"I fell in the fountain?" Sarah said hopefully.  
  
Lisa's blouse chortled merrily. Ha, it said, rasping its fibres together in a distinctly insulting way. Wouldn't have thought you could have looked worse, but I can admit when I'm wrong.  
  
"Are you kidding me?" Lisa said.  
  
Sarah's shirt, like Sarah itself, had been spending a lot of time around Jareth recently. It wasn't healthy for either of them. The shirt hadn't absorbed much magic during her last confrontation with Jareth, but it had gotten enough.  
  
"There was this guy with a hose," Sarah tried again. "And he-"  
  
Sarah's shirt reached out to the universe with what, for lack of a better word, we will call its mind. With a kind of malicious glee it tugged on the incorporeal strings here, and shot a bolt of energy _there_ and...  
  
The strange thrumming noise made Sarah break off in mid-lie. She looked up. So did Lisa.   
  
Something odd was happening just below the mall ceiling. It looked as though a spherical patch of air roughly a foot across had suddenly decided that it needed a change, and was now attempting to squeeze itself into an area about two inches. The shimmering marble hung above them, emitting a slow pulsing hum.   
  
Lisa and Sarah stared at it, their faces a study in contrasts as they were at totally different stages in the process of: "It's true, Little Girl! There *Is* Magic in the World!"   
  
(The title is from a popular children's book in the Underground. It helps parents teach their children about the birds and the bees: namely, that the birds are occasionally royalty in disguise and that the bees are six feet tall and nasty when they're drunk.)  
  
Lisa was at Stage One: Magic is Real! (Comes with dawning joy and excitement)   
  
Sarah was at Stage Eight: Magic is Still Real, and Even More Irritating Than I Remembered It. (Comes with the strong desire to trap Reality in a dark alleyway and express your opinion of Magic being in the World in a very personal and physical way.)  
  
Above their heads, something was changing. The colours dancing across the surface of the sphere were beginning to move faster. The humming noise was getting louder, and climbing to an impossibly high pitch.   
  
The sphere was stretching and bulging and... there was a noise like someone sitting on a pound cake, and the sphere began to expand. As it stretched outwards it became transparent and pale tendrils stretched out from it like grasping fingers. It darkened to a sombre grey as it reached its final shape.   
  
The miniature storm cloud hovered overhead, casting a menacing shadow over Lisa and Sarah.  
  
Sarah shouted a warning at almost exactly the same time as the cloud let loose. However, in the horse race of causality only one event can come in first and in this case, it was the rain that would be taking home the gold trophy and the flowered headdress.  
  
It wasn't normal rain. How could it be?   
  
Instead, Lisa was suddenly standing in a vertical bath. The water didn't so much fall as much as it appeared out of nowhere, drenching Lisa to the skin without bothering to go to all the trouble of physically travelling the distance between her and the storm cloud.  
  
The really interesting part was that, although the water was pouring from the storm cloud that was above both Lisa and Sarah, Lisa was the only one getting wet. The droplets *swerved* to find her, in some cases stopping only an inch above Sarah's head before suddenly making a sharp left turn and zooming sideways to hit Lisa in the eye.   
  
Even after hitting Lisa, no drop of water escaped to so much as splash Sarah's shoes. Or, more to the point, Sarah's shirt.   
  
Which was laughing hysterically.   
  
*******  
  
Elsewhere, two entities were engaged in communication. It is perhaps misleading to say 'elsewhere', since the plane on which they exist has virtually nothing to do with physical reality and can most accurately be described as a theoretical construct with an attitude problem.   
  
The two entities communicated without words or gestures. You couldn't even pin it down by calling it telepathy, as these beings don't have thoughts in the same way that humans do, being entities that combine almost limitless power with an almost perfect understanding of the Universe. Note the almosts.   
  
The visitor entity spoke in a voice like a hundred stars dying, and he spoke thusly:   
  
"I am Techniqoutaxil! Second Companion to the Great Iafandirzis!"   
  
Brief flurries of power spun briefly into existence, called by the strength of the Names, but finding no spell to bind them they dissipated back into space. Some of their residue found its way to a bucolic farming planet and settled on a simple peasant boy, giving him the power to turn any piece of gold into a large yam. It didn't really affect his lifestyle.   
  
The other entity looked supremely unimpressed. If it had had anything as physical as nails, it would have looked at them. "Ethel. What'dya want?"   
  
Techniqoutaxil looked vaguely nonplussed, but forged on.   
  
"I have come to lay a demand at your feet!" He thundered. "My Masters are displeased! They would have a Destiny laid upon the worthless creature that has defied them! They are too merciful! The wretch deserves-!"  
  
"Got the form?" Ethel's bored voice cut off the speech, preventing Techniqoutaxil from really getting into the dramatic possibilities of lava, acid, and wrenching molecular dissipation.  
  
"My Masters are above forms!" Techniqoutaxil proclaimed. "We are the - "  
  
"Look, Techie, you've gotta have the form."   
  
Power started to stir again, but collapsed into confusion when confronted by the use of the nickname.   
  
Many historians place the blame for the sinking of Atlantis squarely on the head of a young novice whose last words were reportedly along the lines of, "Oh, the protection spells do _so_ know who I mean by 'Archie'!" He was assisting in a routine summoning of the minor demon Archentiala at the time. Names are Power, but nickNames are dangerous.  
  
Techniqoutaxil looked down at what, if you used a lot of imagination, could have been his feet.   
  
"I, Techniqoutaxil, second Companion to the Great Iafandirzis!... do not have the form." Techniqoutaxil admitted, then said: "Nobody _told_ me!" Whole galaxies of petulance elbowed their way into the sentence.   
  
"Uh huh." Ethel said with resignation. Like everyone that had to deal with the public on a regular basis, Eth was well aware that nothing was ever the fault of the people who came to see her.   
  
Destroyed an entire civilization? "That planet jumped in front of me, I swear!"  
  
Accidentally summoned Pryxti, the energy leech? (Also 'letch', but let's not go there.) "I thought I was just reading my grocery list out loud..."  
  
Like her terrestrial counterparts, years of dealing with hordes of self-proclaimed saints had left her with a rather cynical view of the universe. Unlike her terrestrial counterparts, Ethel's relative omnipotence let her know without a shadow of a doubt that no matter how bitter, jaded or downright paranoid she got... she didn't know the half of it.  
  
"Down the hall," Ethel said calmly. "First star on the right, straight on until morning. Brenda will get you the right form."  
  
Techniqoutaxil was gone and back within seconds, folding several realities into halves and destroying one completely in order to make it back before closing time. He held the document out to Ethel with an expression of almost pathetic eagerness.   
  
Ethel took it and settled down to ignoring him, focusing her attention fixedly on everywhere in the universes that _didn't_ contain a second Companion to the Great Iafandirzis.  
  
"When can we expect it to be done?" Techniqoutaxil seemed to notice his pleading tone for the first time and drew himself back up to his full height, pulling a cloak of crackling energy around him like a shield. "I mean, we demand that this be done at once!"  
  
"Sure." Ethel said, and yawned. "We'll let you know."  
  
Techniqoutaxil departed in a huff as Ethel glanced over the document.   
  
A few seconds later, the distillation of everything Sarah Williams had been, was now, or ever would be landed on top of a large pile of documents. In defiance of all natural laws, there was a coffee stain on it.   
  
______  
  
Tell me what you think?  
  
Note: Sorry for the delay in getting this part out. A lovely lady named Jinni put up a Willow/? challenge on one of my lists. Needless to say, that was something I couldn't pass up. But, after writing Willow/Jareth, Willow/Lacroix and Willow/Draco, I think I've finally got that challenge out of my system for the moment. Although who knows... I may wake up tonight consumed with the idea of writing a Willow/Hoggle fic. *g*   
  
God, I hope not.   
  
Next part is new, you know. Ack! 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Part Fourteen **

Sarah had been terrified, was now worried and was about to be furious. There's a nice progression there, a sort of idiot's alternative to the conventional five phases of dealing with grief. Not exactly grief , though. Hallmark doesn't make cards for what Sarah's been going through.   
  
At least, they don't for the moment.   
  
If things don't look up soon, it's entirely likely that cards featuring a sad puppy with a sign in its mouth reading: 'I'm dog-gone sorry that you're in a battle of wits with a supernatural entity!' will be coming soon to a pharmacy near you.   
  
(And, because some things are inevitable, when you open the card it will say, 'Especially because you're unarmed! Ha Ha!' in big round letters. There'll probably be a smiley face, too. Bastards.)  
  
Putting merchandising possibilities aside, Sarah was currently finding that hoping that someone would just _go away_ didn't work any better on an ordinary person than it did on Jareth, although the adjective 'ordinary' can't really be applied to someone who is currently suffering the focus of a very intense and _very_ localized thunderstorm.   
  
"Sarah?" Lisa said in a trembling voice from inside the eye of the storm. She spit out a mouthful of water and grimaced.   
  
"What?" Sarah said defensively.  
  
_"What's going on?_"   
  
Lisa was soaked to the skin now and the rain showed no signs of stopping. A close observer might have noticed that there was no rain on the floor, and an even closer observer might have realized that this was because the water was _vanishing_ a micron before it hit the ground.   
  
A ridiculously close observer, possibly someone out on a walking tour of the subatomic level, might even have noticed that the very same water molecules that didn't hit the floor were reappearing a second later inside the cloud, ready for another go.  
  
If all these observers got together at a bed and breakfast somewhere in Maine and met to compare notes over a nice brunch, they would conclude that all this proved two things:  
  
It proved that magic understands the idea of recycling, which should come as a relief to all those who were worried that Jareth was just spending magic willy-nilly with no thought for the countless future generations of mortals who have a god-given right to wish their loved ones away, fight to get them back and in the process be terrorized just as lavishly as everyone else and with just as many musical numbers and costume changes.   
  
(This should come as a special sort of relief to all those who have been wondering why Jareth isn't answering their calls. Whatever the reason, it's not budget cuts. Try wearing spandex, preferably some with animal prints, and calling him a twit at random intervals. That should get results.)  
  
More relevantly, it also proved that the storm isn't going to be running out of water soon... in fact, not ever.   
  
Why would Jareth _do_ this? Sarah thought.  
  
On the textile plane of hearing, Sarah's shirt was doing a fair approximation of an evil chortle directed at Lisa's silent blouse - silent because the language of fabric is the language of shifting and the blouse was currently pushed down by the remorseless pounding water. Water poured into its seams and spread through its fibres and held it trapped and silent and blinded and terrified. (For clothes, the washing machine is a dark and noisy hell.)  
  
Sarah's shirt continued to chortle.   
  
"It's all right," Sarah said to Lisa. "It's the sprinkler. That's all."  
  
Lisa blinked at her. She opened her mouth and made a noise that sounded like, "A glugAGH?"   
  
"Yes," Sarah said, having had a great deal of experience in fear-to-English translation. "A _sprinkler_."   
  
Lisa crossed her (wet) arms over her (wet) chest, her mouth set in a thin line.  
  
"Hang on for a minute, okay?" Sarah said, becoming aware of the gathering crowd. "Then we'll talk."  
  
Lisa rolled her eyes, but nodded. She uncrossed her arms with a damp squelch and sat down on the bench, staring intently at Sarah and blinking hard to keep the water out of her eyes.  
  
Sarah looked around to appraise the situation. It wasn't looking good. There was now quite a large crowd gathered around them, and there were faces the store windows. There was also a hastily lettered sign that read, "All WET? Why not buy one of our all-weather parkas?"  
  
"You know," someone in the crowd said to his wife, "I never really did understand what 'climate controlled' meant. This must be it, eh?"  
  
"It doesn't look all that controlled to _me_," his wife replied in a pinched voice.   
  
"You just don't understand technology, dear." The man said and there was something in the way he said 'dear' that made the people standing near the couple start slowly edging away.   
  
People were rationalizing nicely, Sarah thought, and that was good. But if this went on for much longer someone was bound to show up who didn't see this as cheap entertainment. Soon or later there were going to be official people. People who knew about weather. Yes, Sarah thought with mounting hysteria, there could be _meteorologists_ in the mall right now, coming to find out about this unauthorized weather.   
  
She had to get Lisa out of sight before they found out about the Labyrinth!  
  
_"All I'm saying, darling, is that I think a climate control system is like a very large air conditioner. Or, as you would put it, sweetheart, 'a big box'. That, I believe, is a cumulus nimbus storm cloud. Do you see the difference, pumpkin?"  
_  
This is the point where a rational observer who'd opted out of the brunch would note that every person who knows about and _believes in_ the Labyrinth is one more vote for mass hysteria and one less for solitary insanity. It's always best to go bananas in a bunch.   
  
Unfortunately, Sarah lost the 'rational logic' attachment for her mental toolkit about five seconds after Jareth flew through her window and her Get A Grip on Reality wrench set has never even been taken out of the shrink-wrap.   
  
_"That won't be necessary, dumpling. How wonderful for me to have a wife who knows everything about everything and is never, never wrong! Sweetness."_  
  
Lisa, for her part, was rapidly approaching the state of mind where a glass of cold water to the face is normally called for. Luckily, should anyone want to try that approach there happens to be a large quantity of freezing water conveniently located- oh. Never mind.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Sarah grabbed Lisa's arm. The shock of water on her skin came as something of an anticlimax after nearly being drowned, or possibly devoured by hand dryers, or possibly devoured by Something else. (stop that!)  
  
When she turned to pull Lisa away, Sarah nearly bumped into a man being mercilessly pummelled by a woman half his size.   
  
"Darling." The man said forcefully, getting her in a headlock. "Sugar."  
  
"Lovey bear." The woman growled and kicked him in an area of the male body that is called 'sensitive' by prudish women and which frightened men prefer to refer to as 'Not there not _there_! _Aarghhhhh_'  
  
"De_ar-ghhhh..**.**_" The man said, crumpling like a paper bag. He fell to the floor, landing heavily at the woman's feet.   
  
Okay, Sarah thought bemusedly, that's not normal. What the heck is Jareth _doing_?   
  
Still, no point wasting a good distraction. Taking a firmer hold on Lisa's wrist, Sarah half-led, half-dragged her friend towards a side exit while the crowd was still watching the woman do her victory dance. The cloud trailed after them like a child's balloon, but larger. And wetter. And really not much like a balloon at all, except for the trailing.  
  
Sarah pushed open the side exit and pulled Lisa out after her. The cloud ducked under the door and followed them out into a small empty smoking area that was ringed with tall hedges and carpeted with a gritty dust. There was sunshine there, looking vaguely inappropriate as it shone brightly on the dark and swollen cloud.   
  
Sarah waited hopefully for the cloud to float away. It continued to hover a steady ten inches above Lisa's head, raining smugly.  
  
Sarah sighed. Still, she thought, at least the cloud looked slightly less conspicuous outdoors. After all, clouds are supposed to be outdoors. And clouds are supposed to rain on people, right? Clouds are supposed to have blue pulses of light inside of them... right? And they're supposed to twist in on themselves like meteorological Slinkies... right? _Right?_  
  
Uh oh, Sarah thought.  
  
Sarah stared at the cloud. So did Lisa, despite the fact that tilting her head back at this point was an experience akin to unscrewing a fire hydrant using only her teeth. Drowning didn't matter.  
  
Not when the cloud was wavering _like that_. Not when there were things that looked like tentacles in the heart of it, and other things that looked like they were screaming, and still other things that looked like they were laughing and yes, all right, there was one thing that looked exactly like the hamster that Sarah had when she was eight but one hamster does not a happy scene make.   
  
"Brownie?" Sarah said in a strangled voice.  
  
You'll really like this one, Sarah's shirt insinuated to Lisa's blouse in a mocking rasp.   
  
"Sarah?" Lisa said without looking away from the cloud, which was becoming larger as it pulled the rain back up into itself. "Should we run?" she asked.  
  
"It'd follow us. They always do." Sarah said numbly. She thought she could make out faces in the cloud.   
  
"Oh." Lisa said, and took Sarah's hand.  
  
They watched as the cloud expanded and gained clarity. There were definitely faces there now. Faces and teeth and other things not as identifiable and _wrong_ in ways that were hard to quantify and impossible to look away from.   
  
Oh god, Sarah thought, her stomach twisting. I didn't think he hated me this much.   
  
You never thought that he hated you at all, a voice whispered back. You thought -   
  
Well, I was an idiot, Sarah thought fiercely. Just a stupid little kid.   
  
Ouch, the voice said. You really know how to hurt a girl.  
  
Sarah watched the cloud do something like a full body heave and she swallowed hard and thought, I don't think I'm the only one.   
  
This is the fun part, Sarah's shirt projected smugly.  
  
The largest face in the cloud leered at Sarah, all dark shadows and shifting slippery cloud stuff and she thought it was coming closer and she wanted to scream. And then there was a light like a thousand spotlights coming on, and Sarah threw her free hand up to shield her eyes and was suddenly looking at dark smudges of _bone_ inside her glowing hand and then she really did scream.  
  
And then it was gone and Sarah blinked hard but couldn't see anything beyond a lot of dancing spots that, given recent events, she just hoped weren't about to bite her and she realized that Lisa was holding on to her hand so tightly that it hurt. Or was she holding on to Lisa? It was hard to tell.  
  
"Are you okay?" Sarah asked the spotty darkness where Lisa should be.  
  
"Yeah," Lisa's voice came back. "Are you?"  
  
"So far. Can you see?" Sarah paused. "Do you see spots?" she asked worriedly.  
  
"No" Lisa's voice trailed off. "Sarah?"  
  
"What? Are there spots?" Sarah asked, blinking furiously. Ah good, the darkness was fading. She was beginning to see light again. A lot of light.  
  
"No spots." Lisa said in an odd tone.  
  
The darkness was almost completely gone now and Sarah looked up. And blinked.  
  
"Don't stare it," Lisa said dreamily. "You'll go blind."  
  
Let there be light, Sarah's shirt conveyed to Lisa's blouse in an unpleasant rasp. Lots of it.  
  
Sarah stared at the small sun where the cloud had been. It's a will of the wisp, she thought. Or a fairy. A fairy with sunspots, she added as a small arc of flame rose and fell on the surface of the glowing ball. Her eyes watered and she had to look away.  
  
"I think," Lisa said carefully, staring at her feet. "That now would be a good time for you to explain."  
  
"Explain what?" Sarah said. She moved her hand back and forth in front of her, fascinated by the perfect blackness of the shadows it cast on the ground.   
  
"Oh, I don't know. You could start with why I have weather!" Lisa said icily. "And what's going on with you and what that cloud was and why the hell do I have _weather_, Sarah?" She paused. "Are you doing _shadow puppets_?!"  
  
Sarah hastily straightened out her hand.

"I don't know what to tell you," Sarah said honestly. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere more private."   
  
"Good idea. We can just walk along to my house, it's only a few blocks away, and I'm sure that none of the people on the way will be at all curious about why I'm my own solar system!"  
  
"I could buy you a hat." Sarah suggested, darting a quick glance sideways at Lisa and wincing as the light hit her eyes. "Sunglasses, too."  
  
"A _hat_?"  
  
"A _big_ hat!" Sarah said.  
  
"I'm going to kill you," Lisa said seriously, "unless you tell me what's going on right now."  
  
"You can't even shoplift," Sarah said.  
  
"Normally, no. Does this seem _normal_ to you?" Lisa said. "In about ten seconds, I'm going to bend over and if that thing follows my head well, do you know what it looks like when someone gets hit in the stomach by a small sun?"  
  
"No," Sarah said, eyeing the distance to the door. "And neither do you."  
  
"_But I'm going to_," Lisa said.  
  
There was a noise on the other side of the door.  
  
Sarah grabbed Lisa by the arm and pulled and when the door opened they were already hidden behind the nearest hedge.   
  
Lisa's blouse was now dry enough to get across the message that there was going to be hell to pay for this, and also that it wanted to know where the shirt had learned how to do that.  
  
"Can you see anything?" Sarah whispered to Lisa.  
  
"No," Lisa whispered back, looking through a hole in the hedge. "Wait - I see something."  
  
Sarah's shirt made it clear that it would be useless to tell the blouse anything, because in a few hours the blouse was going to be bleached to sackcloth.  
  
"What is it?" Sarah asked.  
  
"It's" Lisa hesitated and drew back from the hedge. "It's a Hat," Lisa said finally.   
  
"A hat?" Sarah said slowly.  
  
Lisa's blouse curled in a way that implied that, even bleached, it would still be more fashionable than the shirt and also seriously, it wanted to know how the shirt had done that.   
  
Lisa nodded. "A big Hat. With feathers on it."  
  
Sarah twitched and asked, "Is it moving?  
  
Lisa gave her a strange look but put her eye back to the bare patch. "It's a little bit closer, I think, Sar- Sarah?" she said to the empty air where Sarah had been a second ago..  
  
***********  
Tell me what you think?  
  
Ah, we're into seriously new territory here. It's frightening, but also very fun. *g*  
  
On a more grovelling note, sorry for the delay. I've been busy and also dumb as a rock. The one will pass, the other I'm pretty sure I'm stuck with. A profound thank you to everyone who prodded me with a stick looking for signs of life.  
  
All reviews replied to, you marvellous people, which has renewed my faith in mankind and also led to me calling people over to the computer saying things like, "No, no, just read _this_ one. And that one, too. Oh, and that one. Here, you want to use my chair? Sit. Where are you going? I said _sit."_   
  
I should probably stop doing that, eh? People will start to Talk. And hide, also.  
  
Ash "Think of Me as a _Harmless_ Lunatic" Jay


End file.
